TORCHY AS A PA

BYSEWELL FORD

AUTHOR OFTHE TORCHY AND THE SHORTY McCABE STORIES

GROSSET & DUNLAPPUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Made in the United States of America

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Copyright, 1919, 1920, bySEWELL FORD

Copyright, 1920, byEDWARD J. CLODE

All Rights Reserved

Printed In the United States of America

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CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I. Vee Ties Something Loose 1 II. When Hallam Was Rung Up 16 III. The Gummidges Get a Break 34 IV. Finding Out About Buddy 50 V. In Deep for Waddy 69 VI. How Torchy Anchored a Cook 89 VII. How the Garveys Broke in 105 VIII. Nicky and the Setting Hen 122 IX. Brink Does a Sideslip 136 X. 'Ikky-Boy Comes Along 150 XI. Louise Reverses the Clock 162 XII. When the Curb Got Gypped 177 XIII. The Mantle of Sandy the Great 191 XIV. Torchy Shunts a Wizard 205 XV. Stanley Takes the Jazz Cure 220 XVI. The Mystery of the Thirty-One 234 XVII. No Luck with Auntie 248 XVIII. Hartley Pulls a New One 263 XIX. Torchy Gets a Hunch 279 XX. Giving 'Chita a Look 293

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TORCHY AS A PA

CHAPTER I

VEE TIES SOMETHING LOOSE

I forget just what it was Vee was rummagin' for in the drawer of herwritin' desk. Might have been last month's milk bill, or a stray hairnet, or the plans and specifications for buildin' a spiced layer cakewith only two eggs. Anyway, right in the middle of the hunt she cutsloose with the staccato stuff, indicatin' surprise, remorse, suddengrief and other emotions. 

"Eh?" says I. "Is it a woman-eatin' mouse, or did you grab a hatpin bythe business end?"

"Silly!" says she. "Look what I ran across, Torchy. " And she flips anengraved card at me. 

I picks it on the fly, reads the neat script on it, and then hunches myshoulders. "Well, well!" says I. "At home after September 15, 309 WestHundred and Umpty Umpt street. How interestin'! But who is this Mr. AndMrs. Hamilton Porter Blake, anyway?"

"Why, don't you remember?" says Vee. "We sent them that darlingurn-shaped candy jar. That is Lucy Lee and her dear Captain. "

"Oh, then she got him, did she?" says I. "I knew he was a goner when shewent after him so strong. And now I expect they're livin' happy everafter?"

Maybe you don't remember my tellin' you about Lucy Lee, the Virginiabutterfly we took in over the week-end once and how I had to scratcharound one Saturday to find some male dinner mate for her, and pickedthis hard-boiled egg from the bond room, one of these buddin' John D. 'swho keeps an expense account and shudders every time he passes amillinery store or thinks what two orchestra seats and a double taxifare would set him back. And, the female being the more expensive of thespecies, he has trained himself to be girl proof. That's what he lets onto me beforehand, but inside of forty-eight minutes by the watch, orbetween his first spoonful of tomato soup and his last sip of cafe noir, this Lucy Lee party had him so dizzy in the head he didn't know whetherhe was gazin' into her lovely eyes or being run down by a truck. Honest, some of these babidolls with high voltage lamps like that ought to bemade to use dimmers. For look! Just as she's got him all wound up in thenet, what does Lucy Lee do but flit sudden off to the Berkshires, wherea noble young S. O. S. Captain has just come back from the war and thenext we know they're engaged, while in the bond room of the CorrugatedTrust is one more broken heart, or what passes for the same among themyoung hicks. 

And now here is Lucy Lee, flaggin' as young Mrs. Blake, livin' right inthe same town with him. 

"How stupid of me to forget!" says Vee. "We must run in and call on themright away, Torchy. "

"We?" says I. "Ah, come!"

"We'll have dinner first at that cute little Cafe Bretone you've beentelling me about, " says Vee, "and go up to see the Blakes afterwards. "

Yes, that was the program we followed. And without the aid of a guide welocated this Umpty Umpt street. The number is about half way down theblock that runs from upper Broadway to Riverside Drive. It's one of thenarrow streets, you know, and the scenery is just as cheerful as asection of the Hudson River tube on a foggy night. Nothing butseven-story apartment buildings on either side; human hives, where theonly thing that can be raised is the rent, which the landlord attends toevery quarter. 

Having lived out in the near-country for a couple of years, I'd mostforgotten what ugly, gloomy barracks these big apartment buildings were. Say, if they built state prisons like that, with no more sun or air inthe cells, there'd be an awful howl. But the Rosenheimers and the MaxBlums and the Gilottis can run up jerry built blocks with 8x10 bedroomsopenin' on narrow airshafts, and livin' rooms where you need a couple oflights burnin' on sunny days, and nobody says a word except to beg theagent to let 'em pay $150 a month or so for four rooms and bath. I canfeel Vee give a shudder as we dives into the tunnel. 

"But really, " says she, "I suppose it must be very nice, only half ablock from the Drive, and with such an imposing entrance. "

"Sure!" says I. "Just as cosy as being tucked away in a safety depositvault every night. That's what makes some of these New Yorkers sopatronizin' and haughty when they happen to stray out to way stationsand crossroads joints where the poor Rubes live exposed continual tosunshine and fresh air and don't seem to know any better. "

"Just think!" says Vee. "Lucy Lee's home down in Virginia was one ofthose delightful old Colonial houses set on a hill, with more than ahundred acres of farm land around it. And Captain Blake must have beenused to an outdoor life. He's a civil engineer, I believe. But then, with the honeymoon barely over, I suppose they don't mind. "

"We might ask 'em, " I suggests. 

"Don't you dare, Torchy!" says she. 

By that time, though, we're ready to interview the fuzzy-haired WestIndian brunette in charge of the 'phone desk in one corner of themarble wainscoted lobby. And when he gets through givin' the hotcomeback to some tenant who has dared to protest that he's had the wrongnumber, he takes his time findin' out for us whether or not the Blakesare in. Finally he grunts something through the gum and waves us towardthe elevator. "Fourth, " says he. And a slouchy young female in a dirtykhaki uniform takes us up, jerky, to turn us loose in a hallway with adozen doors openin' off. 

There's such a dim light we could hardly read the cards in the doorplates, and we was pawin' around, dazed, when a husky bleached blondecomes sailin' out of an apartment. 

"Will you please tell me which is the Blakes' bell?" asks Vee. 

"Blakes?" says the blonde. "Don't know 'em. "

"Perhaps we're on the wrong floor, " I suggests. 

But about then a door opens and out peers Lucy Lee herself. "Why, thereyou are!" says she. "We were just picking up a little. You know howthings get in an apartment. So good of you to hunt us up. Come rightin. "

So we squeezes in between a fancy hall seat and the kitchen door, edgesdown a three-foot hallway, and discovers Captain Blake just strugglin'into his coat, at the same time kickin' some evenin' papers, dexterous, under a davenport. 

"Why, how comfy you are here, aren't you?" says Vee, gazin' around. 

"Ye-e-es, aren't we?" says Lucy Lee, a bit draggy. 

If you've ever made one of these flathouse first calls you can fill inthe rest for yourself. We are shown how, by leanin' out one of the frontwindows, you can almost see the North River; what a cute little dinin'room there is, with a built-in china closet and all; and how convenientthe bathroom is wedged between the two sleeping rooms. 

"But really, " says Lucy Lee, "the kitchen is the nicest. Do you know, the sun actually comes in for nearly an hour every afternoon. And isn'teverything so handy?"

Yes, it was. You could stand in the middle and reach the gas stove withone hand and the sink with the other, and if you didn't want to use thewashtub you could rest a loaf of bread on it. Then there was thedumbwaiter door just beside the ice-box, and overhead a shelf where youcould store a whole dollar's worth of groceries, if you happened to havethat much on hand at once. It was all as handy as an upper berth. 

"You see, " explains Lucy Lee, "we have no room for a maid, and couldn'tpossibly get one if we did have room, so I am doing my own work; thatis, we are. Hamilton is really quite a wonderful cook; aren't you, Hammy, dear? Of course, I knew how to make fudge, and I am learning toscramble eggs. We go out for dinner a lot, too. "

"Isn't that nice?" says Vee, encouragin'. 

Gradually we got the whole story. It seems Blake wasn't a captain anymore, but had an engineerin' job on one of the new tubes, so they had tostick in New York. They had thought at first it would be thrilling, butI gathered that most of the thrills had worn off. And along towards theend Lucy Lee admits that she's awfully lonesome. You see, she'd beenused to spendin' about six months of the year with Daddy in Washington, three more in flittin' around from one house party to the other, andwhat was left of the year restin' up down on the big plantation, wherethey knew all the neighbors for miles around. 

"But here, " says she, "we seem to know hardly anyone. Oh, yes, there area few people in town we've met, but somehow we never see them. They liveeither in grand houses on Fifth Avenue, or in big hotels, or inBrooklyn. "

"Then you haven't gotten acquainted with anyone in the building here?"asks Vee. 

"Why, " says Lucy Lee, "the janitor's wife is a Mrs. Biggs, I believe. I've spoken to her several times--about the milk. "

"You poor dear!" says Vee. 

"It's so tiresome, " goes on Lucy Lee, "wandering out at night to somestrange restaurant and eating dinner among total strangers. We go oftento one perfectly dreadful little place because there's a funny oldwaiter that we call by his first name. He tells us about his marrieddaughter, whose husband is a steamfitter and has been out on strike fornearly two months. But Hamilton always tips him more than he should, soit makes our dinners quite expensive. We have to make up, next night, byhaving fried eggs and bacon at home. "

 * * * * *

Well, it's a tale of woe, all right. Lucy Lee don't mean to complain, but when she gets started on the subject she lets the whole thing out. Life in the great city, if you have to spend twenty hours out of thetwenty-four in a four-and-bath apartment, ain't so allurin', the way shesketches it out. Course, she ain't used to it, for one thing. She thinksif she had some friends nearby it might not be so bad. As for Hamilton, he listens to her with a puzzled, hopeless expression, like he didn'tunderstand. 

Vee seems to be studyin' over something, but she don't appear to begettin' anywhere. So we sits around and talks for an hour or so. Thereain't room to do much else in a flat. And about 9:30 Mr. Blake has abrilliant thought. 

"I say, Lucy, " says he, "suppose we make a rinktum-diddy for the folks, eh?"

"Sounds exciting', " says I. "Do you start by joinin' hands around thetable?"

No, you don't. You get out the electric chafing dish and begin by fryin'some onions. Then you melt up some cheese, add some canned tomatoes, and the result is kind of a Spanish Welsh rabbit that's almost as tastyas it is smelly. 

It was while we was messin' around the vest pocket kitchen, everybodytryin' to help, that we spots this face at the window opposite. It'ssort of a calm, good natured face. You wouldn't call the young lady aheart-breaker exactly, for her mouth is cut kind of generous and her bigeyes are wide set and serious; but you might guess that she was a decentsort and more or less sociable. In fact she's starin' across the tenfeet or so of air space watchin' our maneuvers kind of interested andwistful. 

"Who's your neighbor?" asks Vee. 

"I'm sure I haven't an idea, " says Lucy Lee. "I see her a lot, ofcourse. She spends as much time in her kitchen as I do, even more. Usually she seems to be alone. "

"Why don't you speak to her some time?" suggests Vee. 

"Oh, I wouldn't dare, " says Lucy Lee. "It--it isn't done, you know. Itried that twice when I first came, with women I met in the elevator, and I was promptly snubbed. New Yorkers don't do that sort of thing, Iunderstand. "

"But she's rather a nice looking girl, " insists Vee. "And see, she'shalf smiling. I'm going to speak to her. " Which she does, right off thebat. "I hope you don't mind the onion perfume?" says Vee. 

The strange young lady doesn't slam down the window and go off tossin'her head, indignant, so she can't be a real New Yorker. Instead shesmiles and shows a couple of cheek dimples. "It smells mighty good, "says she. "I was just wondering what it could be. "

"Won't you come over and find out?" says Vee, smilin' back. 

"Yes, do come and join us, " puts in Lucy Lee. "I'll open the hall doorfor you. "

"Why, I--I'd love to if--if I may, " says the young lady. 

And that's how, half an hour or so later, when all that was left of thisrinktum-diddy trick was some brown smears on five empty plates, we begunhearin' the story of the face at the window. She's young Mrs. WilliamFairfield, and she's been that exactly three months. Before that she hadbeen Miss Esther Hartley, of Turkey Run, Md. , and Kaio Chow, China. PapaHartley had been a medical missionary and Esther, after she got throughat Wellesley, had joined him as a nurse and kindergarten teacher. She'dbeen living in Kaio Chow for three years and the mission outfit wasgetting along fine when some kind of a Boxer mess broke out and they allhad to leave. Coming back on an Italian steamer from Genoa she met Bill, who'd been in aviation, and there'd been some lovely moonlight nightsand--well, Bill had persuaded her that teaching young Chinks to learnc-a-t, cat, wouldn't be half as nice as being Mrs. William Hartley. Besides, he had a good position waiting for him in a big wholesaleleather house right in New York, and it would be such fun living amongregular people. 

"I suppose it is fun, too, " says Esther, "but somehow I can't seem toget used to it. Everyone here gives you such, cold, suspicious looks;even the folks you meet in the hallways and elevator, as though theymeant to say, 'Don't you dare speak to me. I don't know who or what youare, so don't come near. ' They're like that, you know. Why, the streetgamins of Kaio Chow were not much worse when I first went there. Yes, they did throw stones at me a few times, but in less than a month theywere calling me the Doctor Lady and letting me tell them how wrong itwas to spend so much time gambling around the food carts. Of course, they kept right on gambling for fried fish and rice cakes, but theywould grin friendly when they saw me. Up to tonight no one in New Yorkhas even smiled at me. 

"It's such a wonderful place, too; and so big, you would almost thinkthere was enough to share with, strangers. But they seem to resent mybeing here at all, so I go out very little now when I am alone. And asBill is away all day, and sometimes has to work evenings as well, I amalone a great deal. About the only place I can see the sky from andother people is this little kitchen window. So I stay there a lot, and Iam sorry to say that often I'm foolish enough to wish myself back atthe mission among all those familiar yellow faces, where I could standon the bamboo shaded galleries and hear the hubbub in the compound, andwatch the coolies wading about in the distant rice fields. Isn't thatsilly? There must be something queer about me. "

"Not so awfully queer, " says Vee. "You're lonesome, that's all. "

"No more than I am, I'm sure, " says Lucy Lee. "I wonder if there aremany others?"

"Only two or three million more, " says I. "That's why the cabarets andmovie shows are so popular. "

That starts us talking over what there was for folks to do in New Yorkevenings, and while we can dope out quite a lot of different ways ofpassin' the time between 8 p. M. And midnight, nearly every one is soexpensive that the average young couple can't afford to tackle 'emmore'n once a week or so. The other evenings they sit at home in theflat. 

"And yet, " says young Mrs. Fairfield, "hardly any of them but could finda congenial group of people if--if they only knew where to look and howto get acquainted with each other. Why, right in this block I've noticedever so many who I'm sure are rather nice. But there seems to be no wayof getting together. "

"That's it, precisely!" says Vee. "So why should you wish yourself backin China?"

"I beg pardon?" says Mrs. Bill. 

"I mean, " says Vee, "that here is a missionary field, right at yourdoor. If you can go off among foreigners and get them to give up some oftheir silly ways and organize them into groups and classes, why can'tyou do something of the kind for these silly New York flat dwellers?Can't they be organized, too?"

"Why, " says Mrs. Bill, her eyes openin' wider, "I never thought of that. But--but there are so many of them. "

"What about starting with your own block?" suggests Vee. "Perhaps withonly one side of the street at first. Couldn't you find out how manywere interested in one particular thing--music, or dancing, orbridge--and get them together?"

"Oh, I see!" says Mrs. Bill, clappin' her hands, enthusiastic. "Make asocial survey. Why, of course. One could get up a sort of questionnairecard and drop it in the letter boxes for each family to fill out, ifthey cared to do so, and then you could call meetings of the variousgroups. "

"If I could find a few home folks from Virginia, that's all I wouldask, " says Lucy Lee. 

"Then we would start the card with 'Where born?'" says Mrs. Bill. "Thatwould show us how many were Southerners, how many from the West, fromNew England, and so on. Next we would want to know something about theirages. "

"Not too much, " suggests Hamilton Blake. "Better ask 'em if they'reover or under thirty. "

"Of course, " says Mrs. Bill. "Let's see how such a card would look. Nextwe would ask them what amusements they liked best: music, dancing, theatre going, bowling, bridge, private theatricals, chess and so on. Please check with a cross. And are you a high-brow; if so, why? Is itart, books, languages, or the snare drum?"

"Don't forget the poker fiends and the movie fans, " I puts in. 

Mrs. Bill writes that down. "We will have to begin by electing ourselvesan organizing committee, " says she, "and we will need a small printingfund. "

"I'll chip in ten, " says Mr. Blake. 

"So will we, " says Vee. 

"And I am sure Bill will, too, " says Mrs. Fairfield, "which will bequite enough to print all the cards we need. And tomorrow evening wewill get together in our apartment and make out the questionnairecomplete. Shall we?"

So when we left to catch a late train for Long Island it looked likeWest Hundred and Umpty Umpt street was going to have something newsprung on it. Course, we didn't know how far these two young coupleswould get towards reformin' New York, but they sure was in earnest, 'specially young Mrs. Bill, who seems to have more or less common sensetucked away between her ears. 

That must have been a week or ten days ago, and as we hadn't heard fromany of them, or seen anything in the papers, we was kind of curious. Sohere yesterday I has to call up Lucy Lee on the 'phone. 

"Say, " says I, "how's that block sociable progressin'?"

"Oh, perfectly wonderful!" says Lucy Lee. "Why, at our first meeting, ina big dance hall, we had nearly 300 persons and were almost swamped. ButEsther is a perfect wizard at organizing. She got them into groups inless than half an hour, and before we adjourned they had formed allkinds of clubs and associations, from subscription dance clubs to a LordDunsany private theatrical club. Everyone in the block who didn't turnout at first has been clamoring to get in since and it has been keepingus busy sorting them out. You've no idea what a difference it makes uphere. Why, I know almost everybody in the building now, and some of themare really charming people. They're beginning to seem like realneighbors and I don't think we shall ever pass another dull eveningwhile we live here. Even folks across the street have heard about it andwant Esther to come over and organize them. "

So I had quite a bulletin to take home to Vee. 

"Isn't that splendid!" says she. 

"Anyway, " says I, "I guess you started something. If it spreads enough, maybe New York'll be almost fit to live in. But I have my doubts. "

CHAPTER II

WHEN HALLAM WAS RUNG UP

It ain't often Mr. Robert starts something he can't finish. When hedoes, though, he's shifty at passin' it on. Yes, I'll say he is. For insuch cases I'm apt to be the one that's handiest, and you know what thatmeans. It's a matter of Torchy being joshed into tacklin' any oldproposition that may be batted up, with Mr. Robert standin' by ready tospring the grin. 

Take this little go of his with the Hallam Beans--excuse me, the F. Hallam Beans. Doesn't that sound arty? Well, that's what they were, thispair. Nothing but. I forget where it was they drifted in from, but ofcourse they couldn't have found each other anywhere but in GreenwichVillage. And in course of time they mated up there. It was the logical, almost the brilliant thing to do. Instead of owing rent for two skylightstudios they pyramided on one; besides, after that each one could borrowthe makin's off the other when the cigarettes ran out, and if there camepea-green moments when they doubted whether they were real geniuses ornot one could always buck up the other. 

If they had stuck to the Village I expect we'd never heard anythingabout them, but it seems along early last spring F. Hallam had a strokeof luck. He ran across an old maid art student from Mobile who was upfor the summer and was dyin' to get right into the arty atmosphere. Alsoshe had $300 that her grip wasn't any too tight on, and before she knewit F. Hallam had sub-let the loft to her until Sept. 15, payable inadvance. Two days later the Beans, with more'n half of the loot left, were out on Long Island prospectin' around in our locality and talkingvague about taking a furnished bungalow. They were shown some neat ones, too, runnin' from eight to fifteen hundred for three months, but none of'em seemed to be just right. But when they discovered this partlytumbled down shack out on a back lane beyond Mr. Robert Ellinses' bigplace they went wild over it. Years ago some guy who thought he wasgoin' to get rich runnin' a squab farm had put it up, but he'd quit thegame and the property had been bought up by Muller, our profiteerin'provision dealer. And Muller didn't do a thing but soak 'em $30 a monthrent for the shack, that has all the conveniences of a cow shed in it. 

But the Beans rented some second-hand furniture, bought some oil lampsand a two-burner kerosene stove, and settled down as happy and contentedas if they'd leased a marble villa at Newport. From then on you'd beliable to run across 'em most anywhere, squattin' in a field or alongthe back roads with their easels and paint brushes, daubin' awayindustrious. 

You might know it would be either Mrs. Robert or Vee who would pick 'emup and find out the whole story. As a matter of fact it was both, forthey were drivin' out after ferns or something when they saw the Beansperched on a stone wall tryin' to unbutton a can of sardines with apalette knife and not having much success. You know the kind of peoplewho either lose the key to a sardine can or break off the tab and thengaze at it helpless! That was them to the life. 

And when Mrs. Robert finds how they're livin' chiefly on dry groceriesand condensed milk, so's to have more to blow in on dinky little tubesof Chinese white and Prussian blue and canvas, of course she has to getbusy slippin' 'em little trifles like a dozen fresh eggs, a mess ofgreen peas and a pint of cream now and them. She follows that up byhavin' 'em come over for dinner frequent. Vee has to do her share too, chippin' in a roast chicken or a cherry pie or a pan of doughnuts, sobetween the two the Hallam Beans were doin' fairly well. Hallam, hecomes back generous by wishin' on each of 'em one of his masterpieces. The thing he gives us Vee hangs up over the livin' room mantelpiece, right while he's there. 

"Isn't that perfectly stunning, Torchy?" she demands. 

"I expect it is, " says I, squintin' at it professional, "but--but justwhat is it supposed lo be?" And I turns inquirin' to F. Hallam. 

"Why, " says he, "it is a study of afternoon light on a group of willows. We are not Futurists, you see; Revertists, rather. Our methods--at leastmine--are frankly after the Barbizon school. "

"Yeauh!" says I, noddin' wise. "I knew one once who could do swelldesigns on mirrors with a piece of soap. "

"I beg pardon, " says Hallam. "One what?"

"A barber's son, " says I. "I got him a job as window decorator, too. "

But somehow after that Hallam sort of shies talkin' art with me. Atouchy party, F. Hallam. The least little thing would give him thesulks. And even when he was feelin' chipper his face was long enough. Asa floorwalker in a mournin' goods shop he'd be a perfect fit. But youcouldn't suggest anything that sounded like real work to Hallam. Heclaims that he was livin' for his art. Maybe so, but I'll be hanged ifhe was livin' on it. I got to admit, though, that he dressed the partfairly well; for in that gray flannel shirt and the old velvet coat andthe flowin' black tie, and with all that stringy, mud-colored hairfallin' around his ears, he couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Evena movie audience would have spotted him as an artist without a leader tothat effect. 

Mrs. Hallam Bean was a good runnin' mate for him, for she has her hairboxed and wears paint-smeared smocks. Only she's a shy actin', quietlittle thing, and real modest. There's no doubt whatever but that shehas decided that F. Hallam is going to be a great painter some day. Whenshe ain't sayin' as much she's lookin' it; and Hallam, I suspect, isalways ready to make the vote unanimous. 

I judged from a few remarks of Mr. Robert's that he wasn't quite asstrong for the Hallams as Mrs. Robert was, but seein' 'em around so muchhe couldn't help gettin' more or less interested in the business end oftheir career. 

"Yes, " says he, "they seem to be doing fairly well this summer; but howabout next winter, when they go back to town? You know they can'tpossibly sell any of those things. How are they going to keep fromstarving?"

Mrs. Robert didn't know. She said she'd mention the matter to F. Hallam. And she found he wasn't worrying a bit. His plans were vague enough. Hewas doing a head of Myrtle--that being Mrs. Bean--which he thought hemight let some magazine have as a cover picture. And then, other thingswere bound to turn up. They always had, you know. 

But toward the end of the season the Beans got shabbier than ever. Myrtle's smocks were torn and stained, with a few cigarette burns hereand there, and her one pair of walking boots were run over at the heeland leaky in the sole. As for Hallam, that velvet coat had so manygrease spots on it that it was hardly fit to wear outside of a stable, and his rubber-soled shoes gave his toes plenty of air. The Beansadmitted that their finances were down to the zero point and they had tobe asked in for dinner at least three times a week to keep 'em frombein' blue in the gills. 

"Hang it all!" says Mr. Robert, "the fellow ought to have a regular jobof some kind. I suppose he can draw after a fashion. I'll see what I cando. "

And by rustlin' around among his friends he finds one who runs a bigadvertisin' agency and can place another man in the art department. You'd 'most thought F. Hallam would have been tickled four ways at theprospect of draggin' down a pay envelope reg'lar and being able to lookthe rent agent in the face. But say, what does he do but scrape his footand wriggle around like he'd been asked to swallow a non-skid headachetablet. At last he gets out this bleat about how he'd always held hisart to be too sacred a thing for him to commercialize and he reallydidn't know whether he could bring himself to drawin' ad. Pictures ornot. He'd have to have time to think it over. 

"Very well, " says Mr. Robert, restrainin' himself from blowin' a fuse aswell as he could. "Let me know tomorrow night. If you decide to take theplace, come over about 6:30; if you find that your views as to thesacredness of your art are too strong, you needn't bother to arriveuntil 8:30--after dinner. "

I expect it was some struggle, but Art must have gone down for the fullcount. Anyway the Beans were on hand when the tomato bisque was servednext evenin', and in less'n a week F. Hallam was turnin' out a perfectlygood freehand study of a lovely lady standin' graceful beside aNever-smoke oil stove--no-wicks, automatic feed, send for ourcatalogue--and other lively compositions along that line. More'n that, he made good and the boss promised him that maybe in a month or so he'dturn him loose with his oil paints on something big, a full page incolor, maybe, for a leadin' breakfast food concern. Then the Beans movedback to town and we heard hardly anything more about 'em. 

I understand, though, that they sort of lost caste with their old crowdin Greenwich Village. Hallam tried to keep up the bluff for a while thathe wasn't workin' reg'lar, but his friends began to suspect. Theynoticed little things, like the half pint of cream that was left everymorning for the Beans, the fact that Hallam was puttin' on weight andgettin' reckless with clean collars. And finally, after being caughtcoming from the butcher's with two whole pounds of lamb chops, Myrtlebroke down and confessed. They say after that F. Hallam was a changedman. He had his hair trimmed, took to wearin' short bow ties, and whenhe dined at the Purple Pup, sneaked in and sat at a side table like anytourist from the upper West Side. 

Course, on Sundays and holidays he put on the old velvet coat, and setup his easel and splashed away with his paints. But mostly he did headsof Myrtle, and figure stuff. It was even hinted that he hired models. 

It must have been on one of his days home that this Countess Zecchiperson discovered him in his old rig. She'd been towed down there on aslummin' party by a club friend of Mr. Robert's who'd heard of Hallamand had the address. You remember hearin' about the Countess, maybe? Shewas Miss Mae Collins, of Kansas City, originally, and Zecchi was eitherthe second or third of her hubbies, or hobbies, whichever you'd care tocall 'em. A lively, flighty female, Countess Zecchi, who lives in aspecially decorated suite at the Plutoria, sports a tiger cub as a pet, and indulges in other whims that get her more or less into thespotlight. 

Her particular hunch on this occasion was that she must have herportrait done by a real Bohemian artist, and offhand she gives F. Hallamthe job. 

"You must paint me as Psyche, " says she. "I've always wanted to be doneas Psyche. Can't we have a sitting tomorrow?"

Hallam was almost too thrilled for words, but he managed to gasp outthat she could. So he reports sick to his boss, blows in all his sparecash buyin' a big mirror and draperies to fix up a Psyche pool in thestudio, and decides that at last luck has turned. For three days theCountess Zecchi shows up reg'lar, drapes herself in pink tulle, andHallam paints away enthusiastic. 

Then she don't come any more. For a week she stalls him off and finallytells him flat that posing as Psyche bores her. Besides, she's juststarting south on a yachting party. The portrait? Oh, she doesn't careabout that. She hadn't really given him a commission, just told him hemight paint her. And he mustn't bother her by calling up again. Positively. 

So Hallam hits the earth with a dull thud. He reports back on theadvertisin' job and groans every time he thinks how much he spent on themirror and big canvas. He'd been let in, that's all. But he finishes upthe Psyche picture durin' odd times. He even succeeded in unloadin' iton some dealer who supplies the department stores, so he quits aboutsquare. 

Then an odd thing happens. At the advertisin' agency there's a call froma big customer for a picture to go with a Morning Glory soap ad. It's arush order, to be done in six colors. Hallam has a bright littlethought. Why wouldn't his Psyche picture fit in? The boss thinks it'sworth lookin' up, and an hour later he comes back from the dealer's withthe trade all made. And inside of three weeks no less than two dozenmagazines was bindin' in a full page in colors showin' the fair form ofthe Countess Zecchi bendin' over a limpid pool tryin' to fish out a cakeof Morning Glory soap. It was a big winner, that ad. The soap firmordered a hundred thousand copies struck off on heavy plate paper, andif you sent in five wrappers with a two-cent stamp you'd be mailed acopy to tack up in the parlor. 

Whether or not the general public would have recognized the CountessZecchi as the girl in the soap ad. If she'd kept still about it is aquestion. Most likely it wouldn't. But the Countess didn't keep still. That wasn't her way. She proceeds to put up a holler. The very day shediscovers the picture, through kind friends who almost swamped her withcut-out copies and telegrams, she rushes back to New York and calls upthe reporters. All one afternoon she throws cat fits for their benefitup at her Plutoria apartment. She tells 'em what a wicked outrage hasbeen sprung on her by a wretched shrimp of humanity who flags under thename of Bean and pretends to be a portrait painter. She goes intodetails about the mental anguish that has almost prostrated her sinceshe discovered the fiendish assault on her privacy, and she announceshow she has begun action for criminal libel and started suit for damagesto the tune of half a million dollars. 

Well, you've seen what the papers did to that bit of news. They sure didplay it up, eh? The Psyche picture, with all its sketchy draperies, wasprinted side by side with half tones of the Countess Zecchi. And ofcourse they didn't neglect F. Hallam Bean. He has to be photographed andinterviewed, too. Also, Hallam wasn't dodgin' either a note-book or acamera. As a result he is mentioned as "the well-known portrait painterof Greenwich Village, " and so on. One headline I remember was like this:"Founder of American Revertist School Sued for Half Million. "

I expect I kidded Mr. Robert more or less about his artist friend. Hedon't know quite how to take it, Mr. Robert. In one way he feels kind ofresponsible for Hallam, but of course he ain't worried much about thedamage suit. The Countess might get a judgment, but she'd have a swelltime collectin' anything over a dollar forty-nine, all of which she musthave known as well as anybody. But she was gettin' front page space. Sowas F. Hallam. And the soap firm was runnin' double shifts fillin' neworders. 

Then here one afternoon, as Mr. Robert and me are puttin' the finishin'touches to a quarterly report, who should drift into the Corrugatedgeneral offices but F. Hallam Bean, all dolled up in an outfit that hemust have collected at some costumers. Anyway, I ain't seen one of themblack cape coats for years, and the wide-brimmed black felt hat is acurio. Also he's gone back to the flowin' necktie and is lettin' hishair grow wild again. 

"Well, well!" says I. "Right off the boulevard, eh?"

"Why the masquerade?" demands Mr. Robert. 

He don't seem a bit disturbed at our josh, but just smiles sort ofsatisfied and superior. "I suppose it is different, " says he, "butthen, so am I. I've just been having some new photos taken. They're tobe used with an article I'm contributing to a Sunday paper. It is to beentitled, 'What is a Revertist?' They are paying me $100 for it. Notbad, eh!"

"Pretty soft, I'll say, " says I. "Soak 'em while the soakin's good. "

"Still getting on well with your job?" asked Mr. Robert. 

"Oh, I've chucked that, " says Hallam airy. "No more of that degradinggrind for me. I've arrived, you know. "

"Eh?" gasps Mr. Robert. "Where?"

"Why, " says F. Hallam, "don't you understand what has happened duringthese last two weeks? Fame has found me out. I am known as the founderof a new school of art--the original Revertist. My name has become ahousehold word. And before this absurd libel suit is finished I shall bepainting the portraits of all the leading society people. They arealready asking about me, and as soon as I find a suitable studio--I'mconsidering one on West 59th Street, facing Central Park--I shall beoverwhelmed with orders. It's bound to come. "

"You're quite sure this is fame, are you?" asks Mr. Robert. 

F. Hallam smiles and shrugs his shoulders. "Quite, " says he. 

And Mr. Robert can't tell him it's anything else. Hasn't he got hispockets full of newspaper clippings to prove it? Don't people turn andstare after him in the street and nudge each other in the subway cars?Aren't his artist friends giving him a banquet at the Purple Pup? So whyshould he work for wages any more, or save up any of the easy moneythat's coming his way? And he sails out indignant, with his capeovercoat swayin' grand from his narrow shoulders. 

"I give him up, Torchy, " says Mr. Robert. "That is, unless you cansuggest some way of making him see what an ass he is. Come, now!"

"All right, " says I, gettin a sudden hunch. "I don't know as it willwork in his case, for he's got it bad, but suppose we tow him out for alook at Private Ben Riggs?"

"By George!" says Mr. Robert, slappin' his knee. "The very thing. Sunday, eh?"

It was easy enough stagin' the affair. All he had to do was to ask theBeans out for the week-end, and then after Sunday dinner load 'em intothe tourin' car, collect me, and drive off about 20 miles or so to thesouth shore of Long Island. 

Maybe, though, you don't remember about Private Ben Riggs? Oh, of coursethe name still sticks. It's that kind of a name. But just what was it hedid? Uh-huh! Scratchin' your head, ain't you? And yet it was less thantwo years ago that he was figurin' more prominent in the headlines thananybody else you could name, not barrin' Wilson or Von Hindenburg. 

One of our first war heroes, Ben Riggs was, and for nearly two weeksthere he had the great American people shoutin' themselves hoarse in hishonor, as you might say. There was editorials, comparin' his stunt towhat Dewey did at Manila Bay, or Hobson at Santiago, and showin' howPrivate Ben had a shade the best of it, after all. The Sundayillustrated sections had enlarged snapshots of him, of his boyhood homein Whositville; of his dear old mother who made that classic remark, "Now, wasn't that just like Ben"; and of his girlish sweetheart, who wascashier at the Acme Lunch and who admitted that "she always had knownBen was going to be a great man some day. "

Then when the governor of Ben's state worked his pull and got Ben senthome right in the midst of it all there was another grandhooray--parades, banquets and so on. And they raised that testimonialfund for him to buy a home with, and presented him with a gold medal. Next, some rapid firin' publishin' firm rushed out a book: "Private BenRigg's Own Story, " which he was supposed to have written. And then, too, he went on in a vaudeville sketch and found time to sign a moviecontract with a firm that was preparin' to screen his big act, "True ToLife. "

It was along about that stage that Private Ben, with more money in thebank than he'd ever dreamed came from all the mints, got this greatscheme in his nut that a noble plute like him ought to have a bigestate somewhere and build a castle on it. So he comes out here on thesouth shore, lets a real estate shark get hold of him, and the nextthing he knows he owns about a hundred acres of maybe the most worthlessland on the whole island. His next move is to call in an architect, andinside of a month a young army of laborers was layin' the foundationsfor what looked like a city hall, but was really meant to be RiggsmereManor, with 78 rooms, 23 baths, four towers, and a dinin' room 65 feetlong and a ceiling 16 feet in the clear. 

Then the slump came. I forget whether it was a new hero, or anothersubmarine raid. Anyway, the doings of Private Ben Riggs ceased to bereported in the daily press. He dropped out of sight, like a nickel thatrolls down a sewer openin'. They didn't want him any more in vaudeville. The movie producer welched on his proposition. The book sales fell offsudden. The people that wanted to name cigars or safety razors afterhim, or write songs about him, seemed to forget. 

For a few days Private Ben couldn't seem to understand what hadhappened. He went around in a kind of a daze. But he had sense enoughleft to stop work on the Manor, countermand orders for materials, andpull out with what he could. It wasn't such a great pile. There was aconstruction shed on the property, fairly well built, and by running upa chimney and having a well sunk, he had what passed for a home. Therein the builder's shack Private Ben has been living ever since. He hasstuck up a real estate sign and spends most of his time layin' out hisacres of sand and marsh into impossible buildin' lots. As he's way offon a back road, few people ever come by, but he never misses a chance oftacklin' those that do and tryin' to wish a buildin' plot on 'em. That'show we happen to know him so well, and to have kept up with his career. 

On the way out we sort of revived F. Hallam Bean's memories of PrivateBen Riggs. First off he thought Ben had something to do with the BarbaraFreitchie stunt, or was he the one who jumped off Brooklyn Bridge? Butat last he got it straight. Yes, he remembered having had a picture ofPrivate Ben tacked up in his studio, only last year. Then we tried himon Jack Binns, and Sergeant York and Lieutenant Blue and Dr. Cook. Heknew they'd all done something or other to make the first page, but hisguesses were kind of wide. 

"I would like to see Private Ben, though, " says F. Hallam. "Must be aninteresting chap. "

"He is, " says Mr. Robert. "His scrap books are interesting, too. He hasten of them. "

"By Jove!" says Hallam. "Good idea. I must tell Myrtle about that. "

But after we'd been hailed by this lonesome lookin' party in baggy pantsand the faded blue yachtin' cap, and we'd let him lead us past the stonefoundations where a fine crop of weeds was coming up, and he'd herdedus into his shack and was tryin' to spring a blueprint prospectus on us, F. Hallam sort of put his foot in his mouth by remarkin':

"So you are Private Ben Riggs, are you?"

"I was--once, " says he. "Now I'm just Sand-Lot Riggs. Who are you?"

"Oh, pardon me, " puts in Mr. Robert. "I thought you would know. This isMr. Hallam Bean, the celebrated founder of the Revertist school of art. "

"Oh, yes!" said Riggs. "The one who painted the corset picture ad. "

"Soap picture, " I corrects hasty, "featurin' the Countess Zecchi. "

"That's so, it was soap, " admits Riggs. "And I was noticin' in themornin' paper how the Countess had decided to drop them suits. "

"What?" says Hallam, starin' at him. "Where was that? On the frontpage?"

"No, " says Riggs. "It was a little item on the inside mixed up with theobituary notes. That's always the way. They start you on the front page, and then----" Private Ben shrugs his shoulders. But he proceeds to addhasty, with a shrewd squint at Hallam: "Course, it's different with you. Say, how about buyin' the estate here? I'd be willin' to let it gocheap. "

"No, thank you, " says F. Hallam, crisp. 

"Part of it then, " insists Riggs. "I'd been meanin' to write you aboutit. I generally do write 'em while--while they're on the front. "

"No, " says Hallam, and edges toward the door. 

He seemed to get the idea. Before he starts back for town that night heasks Mr. Robert if he could say a word for him at the advertisin'agency, as he thought it might be just as well if he hung onto the job. It wasn't such a poor thought, for Hallam fades out of public view agood deal quicker than he came in. 

"Maybe it wasn't Fame that rung him up, after all, " I suggests to Mr. Robert. 

He nods. "It might have been her step-sister, Notoriety, " says he. 

"Just what's the difference?" says I. 

Mr. Robert rubs his chin. "Some old boy whose name I've forgotten, putit very well once, " says he. "Let's see, he said that Fame was theperfume distilled from the perfect flowering of a wise and good life;while Notoriety was--er----"

"Check!" says I. "It's what you get when you fry onions, eh?"

Mr. Robert grins. "Some day, Torchy, " says he, "I think I shall ask youto translate Emerson's Essays for me. "

It's all josh, all right. But that's what you get when you're a privatesec. De luxe. 

CHAPTER III

THE GUMMIDGES GET A BREAK

This news about how the Gummidges had come back is 'phoned in by Veehere the other afternoon. She's some excited over it, as she always iswhen she sees another chance of extendin' the helpin' hand. I'll admit Iwasn't quite so thrilled. You see, I'd been through all that with theGummidges two or three times before and the novelty had sort of wornoff. Besides, that last rescue act we'd pulled had been no commoncharity hand-out. It had been big stuff, nothing less than passing thehat among our friends and raising enough to send the whole lot of 'em sofar West that the prospects of their ever gettin' back to New York wasmighty slim. Maybe that was one reason I'd been so enthusiastic overputtin' the job through. Not more'n eighteen months ago that had been, and here they all were back in our midst once more. 

"At the same old address, " adds Vee, "so you can guess what that means, Torchy. "

"Uh-huh!" says I. "The Patricia apartments has a perfectly punk janitoragain and we're due to listen to another long tale of woe. "

"Oh, well, " says Vee, "it will be interesting to see if Mrs. Gummidgeis still bearing up cheerful and singing that 'When the Clouds AreDarkest' song of hers. Of course, I am coming right in as soon as I canpack a basket. They're sure to be hungry, so I'm going to put in a wholeroasted chicken, and some jars of that strawberry jam Rowena likes somuch, and heaps of bread and butter sandwiches. Probably they'll need afew warm clothes, too, so I hope you don't mind, Torchy, if I tuck in acouple of those khaki shirts of yours, and a few pairs of socks, and----"

"Say, " I breaks in, "don't get too reckless with my wardrobe. I ain'tgot enough to fit out the whole Gummidge family, you know. Save me adress tie and a change of pajamas if you can. "

"Silly!" says she. "And listen: I will call for you about 5 o'clock andwe'll go up to see them together. "

"Very well, " says I. "I'll try to hold myself back until then. "

At that, I expect I was some curious to find out just how the Gummidgeshad managed it. Must have been Ma Gummidge who found a way. Hen. Gummidge never would, all by himself. About as helpless an oldStick-in-the-Mud, he was, as I'd, ever helped pry out of the muck. And achronic crape hanger. If things were bad, he was sure they were going tobe worse. 

"I never have no luck, " was his constant whine. It was his motto, asyou might say, his Fourteen Points of Fate. 

I never could make out whether he got that way on account of his face, or if his face had lengthened out as his disposition grew gloomy. It wasa long face, almost as long and sad as a cow's. Much too long for hisbody and legs as he was only medium height up as far as the chin. Kindof a stoop shouldered, hollow chested, thin shanked party, too. Somewhere in the fifties, I should judge, but he might have been sixtyby his looks and the weary way he dragged around. 

When I first knew him he was assistant engineer in the Corrugatedbuildin' and I used to see him risin' solemn out of the sidewalk on theash elevator, comin' up from the basement like some sad, flour-sprinkledghost. And then before he'd roll off the ash cans he'd lean his elbowson the safety bar and stare mournful up and down Broadway for a spell, just stallin' around. Course, I got to kiddin' him, askin' what he foundso comic in the boiler-room and why he didn't let me in on the joke. 

"Huh!" he'd grunt. "If there's any joke down there, young feller, I'mit. I wonder how much grinnin' you'd do if you had to slave ten hours aday in a hole like that. I ought to be up sittin' on the right side ofan engine cab, fast freight, and drawin' my three hundred a month withtime and a half overtime. That's what I set out to be when I started aswiper. Got to be fireman once, but on the second run we hit a weak railand went into the ditch. Three busted ribs and my hospital expenses wasall I pulled out of that with; and when I tried to get damages they putmy name on the blacklist, which finished my railroadin' career for good. Maybe it was just as well. Likely I'd got mashed fair in the next wreck. That's me. Why say, if it was rainin' soup I'd be caught out with afork. "

Yes, he was some consistent gloom hound, Henry Gummidge. Let him tell itand what Job went through was a mere head-cold compared to his trialsand tribulations. And the worst was yet to come. He knew it because heoften dreamed of seeing a bright yellow dog walkin' on his hind legsproud and wearin' a shiny collar. And then the dog would change into abow-legged policeman swingin' a night-stick threatenin'. All of which abarber friend of Henry's told him meant trouble in the pot and that hemust beware of a false friend who came across the water. The barber gotit straight from a dream book, and there must be something in it, forhadn't Henry been done out of $3 by a smooth talkin' guy from StatenIsland?

Well, sure enough, things did happen to Gummidge. He had a case ofshingles. Then he dropped the silver watch he'd carried for fifteenyears and before he knew it had stepped square on it with the ironplated heel of his work boots, squashin' the crystal into the works. And six weeks later he'd carelessly rested a red hot clinker rake onhis right foot and had seared off a couple of toes. But the climax camewhen he managed to bug the safety catch on the foolproof ash elevatorand took a 20-foot drop with about a ton of loaded ash cans. He only hada leg broken, at that, but it was three or four months before he camelimpin' out of the hospital to find that the buildin' agent didn't careto have him on the payroll any more. 

Somehow Henry got his case before Mr. Robert, and that's how I was sentscoutin' out to see if all this about a sufferin' fam'ly was a fairytale or not. Well, it was and it wasn't. There was a Mrs. Gummidge, andRowena, and Horatio, just as he'd described. And they was livin' in aback flat on a punk block over near the North river. Their four darkrooms was about as bare of furniture as they could be. I expect youmight have loaded the lot on a push cart. And the rations must have beenmore or less skimpy for some time. 

But you couldn't exactly say that Ma Gummidge was sufferin'. No. She'dcollected a couple of fam'ly washes from over Seventh avenue way and waswadin' into 'em cheerful. Also she was singin' "When the Clouds AreDarkest, " rubbin' out an accompaniment on the wash board and splashin'the suds around reckless, her big red face shinin' through the steamlike the sun breakin' through a mornin' fog. 

Some sizable old girl, Ma Gummidge; one of these bulgy, billowy femaleswith two chins and a lot of brownish hair. And when she wipes her handsand arms and camps down in a chair she seems to fill all one side of theroom. Even her eyes are big and bulgy. But they're good-natured eyes. Ohmy, yes. Just beamin' with friendliness and fun. 

"Yes, Henry's had kind of a hard time, " she admits, "but I tell him hegot off lucky. Might have been hurt a lot worse. And he does feeldownhearted about losin' his job. But likely he'll get another onebetter'n that. And we're gettin' along, after a fashion. Course, we'rebehind on the rent, and we miss a meal now and then; but most folks eattoo much anyway, and things are bound to come out all right in the end. There's Rowena, she's been promised a chance to be taken on as extracash girl in a store. And Horatio's gettin' big enough to be of somehelp. We're all strong and healthy, too, so what's the use worryin', asI say to Henry. "

Say, she had Mrs. Wiggs lookin' like a consistent grouch, Ma Grummidgedid. Rowena, too, is more or less of an optimist. She's about 16, builta good deal on her mother's lines, and big enough to tackle almost anykind of work, but I take it that thus far she ain't done much excepthelp around the flat. Horatio, he's more like his father. He's only 15and ought to be in school, but it seems he spends most of his timeloafin' at home. They're a folksy fam'ly, I judge; the kind that cansit around and chat about nothing at all for hours at a time. Why, eventhe short while I was there, discoverin' how near they was to bein' putout on the street, they seemed to be havin' a whale of a time. Rowena, dressed in a saggy skirt and a shirt waist with one sleeve partly splitout, sits in the corner gigglin' at some of her Ma's funny cracks. Andthen Ma Gummidge springs that rollin' chuckly laugh of hers when Rowenaadds some humorous details about a stew they tried to make out of apiece of salt pork and a couple of carrots. 

But the report I makes to Mr. Robert is mostly about facts and finances, so he slips a ten spot or so into an envelope for 'em, and next day hefinds a club friend who owns a row of apartment houses, among them thePatricia, where there's a janitor needed. And within a week we had theGummidges all settled cozy in basement quarters, with enough to live onand more or less chance to graft off the tenants. 

Then Vee has to get interested in the Gummidges, too, from hearin' metell of 'em, and the next I knew she'd added 'em to her reg'lar list. No, I don't mean she pensions Pa Gummidge, or anything like that. Shejust keeps track of the fam'ly, remembers all their birthdays, keeps 'emchirked up in various ways, shows Rowena how to do her hair so it won'tlook so sloppy, fits Horatio out so he can go back to school, andsmooths over a row Pa Gummidge has managed to get into with the tenanton the second floor west. It ain't so much that she likes to boss otherpeoples' affairs as it is that she gets to have a real likin' for 'emand can't help tryin' to give 'em a boost. And she's 'specially strongfor Ma Gummidge. 

"Do you know, Torchy, " she tells me, "her disposition is really quiteremarkable. She can be cheerful and good natured under the most tryingcircumstances. "

"Lucky for her she can, " says I. "I expect she was born that way. "

"But she wasn't born to live in a basement and do janitor's work, " saysVee. "For you know Gummidge puts most of it on her. No, her people werefairly well-to-do. Her father ran a shoe store up in Troy. They livedover the store, of course, but very comfortably. She had finished highschool and was starting in at the state normal, intending to be ateacher, when she met Henry Gummidge and ran off and married him. He wasnearly ten years older and was engineer in a large factory. But he lostthat position soon after, and they began drifting around. Her fatherdied and in the two years that her mother tried to manage the shoe storeshe lost all that they had saved. Then her mother died. And theGummidges kept getting poorer and poorer. But she doesn't complain. Shekeeps saying that everything will turn out all right some time. I hopeit does. "

"But I wouldn't bank heavy on it, " says I. "I never studied Hen. Gummidge's palm, or felt his bumps, but my guess is that he'll nevershake the jinx. He ain't the kind that does. He's headed down the chute, Henry is, and Ma Gummidge is goin' to need all her reserve stock ofcheerfulness before she gets through. You watch. "

Well, it begun to look like I was some grand little prophet. Even as ajanitor Hen. Gummidge was in about the fourth class, and the Patriciaapartments were kind of high grade. The tenants did a lot of grouchin'over Henry. He wouldn't get steam up in the morning until about 8:30. Hedidn't keep the marble vestibule scrubbed the way he should, and so on. He had a lot of alibis, but mostly he complained that he was gettin'rheumatism from livin' in such damp quarters. If it hadn't been for Veetalkin' smooth to the agent Gummidge would have been fired. As it is hehangs on, limpin' around gloomy with his hand on his hip. I expect hisjoints did pain him more or less. And at last he gives up altogether andcamps down in an easy chair next to the kitchen stove. 

It was about then he heard from this brother of his out in Nebo, Texas. Seems brother was an old bach who was runnin' a sheep ranch out there. Him and Henry hadn't kept close track of each other for a good manyyears, but now brother Jim has a sudden rush of fraternal affection. Hewants Henry and his family to come out and join him. He's lonesome, andhe's tired of doin' his own cookin'. He admits the ranch ain't muchaccount, but there's a livin' on it, and if Henry will come along he'llmake him an equal partner. 

"Ain't that just my luck?" says Henry. "Where could I scrape up enoughmoney to move to Texas, I'd like to know?"

"Think you'd like to go, do you?" I asks. 

"Course I would, " says Gummidge. "It would do my rheumatism good. And, then, I'd like to see old Jim again. But Gosh! It would take more 'n ahundred dollars to get us all out there, and I ain't had that much atonce since I don't know when. "

"Still, " says I, "the thing might be financed. I'll see what can bedone. " Meaning that I'd put it up to Mr. Robert and Vee. 

"Why, surely!" says Vee. "And wouldn't that be splendid for them all?"

"You may put me down for fifty, " says Mr. Robert. "If he'll move toChina I'll double it. "

But Nebo seemed to be far enough off to be safe. And it was surprisin'how easy we stood it when the tickets was all bought and the time cameto say good-bye to the Gummidges. As I remember, we was almost merryover it. Even Mr. Robert has to shoot off something he thinks ishumorous. 

"When you all get to Nebo, " says he, "perhaps the old mountain will be alittle less lonely. "

"And if anybody offers to give you a steer down there, " says I, "don'trefuse. It might be just tin-horn advice, but then again he might mean along-horn beef. "

As usual Henry is the only gloom in the party. He shakes his head. "Brother Jim only keeps sheep, " says he, "and I never did like muttonmuch, nohow. Maybe I won't live to git there, though. Seems like anawful long ways to go. "

But they did land there safe enough, for about a week or ten days laterVee gets a postcard from Ma Gummidge sayin' that it was lucky they gotthere just as they did for they found Brother Jim pretty sick. She wassure she'd have him prancin' around again soon, and she couldn't say howmuch she thanked us all for what we'd done. 

And with that the Gummidges sort of fades out. Not another word comesfrom 'em. Must have been a year and a half ago they went. More, Iexpect. We had one or two other things to think of meanwhile. You knowhow easy it is to forget people like that, specially when you make upyour mind that they're sort of crossed off for good. And after a spellif somebody mentioned Texas maybe I'd recall vague that I knew someonewho was down there, and wonder who it was. 

Then here the other afternoon comes Vee with this announcement that theGummidges were back. Do you wonder I didn't give way to any wild, uncontrolled joy? I could see us goin' through the same old program with'em; listenin' to Pa Gummidge whine about how bad he felt, tryin' tokeep his job for him, plannin' out a career for Horatio, and watchin'Rowena split out more shirtwaists. 

Vee shows up prompt a little before closin' time. She's in a taxi andhas a big suit case and a basket full of contributions. "What puzzlesme, " says she, "is how he could get back his old place so readily. "

"Needn't worry you long, " says I. "Let's go on up and have it over withand then go somewhere for dinner. "

So, of course, when we rolls up to the Patricia apartment we dives downinto janitor's quarters as usual. But we're halted by a putty-facedSwede person in blue denims, who can converse and smoke a pipe at thesame time. 

"Yah, I bane yanitor here long time, " says he. 

"Eh?" says I. "What about Gummidge then?"

"Oh, Meester Gummidge, " says he. "He bane new tenant on second floor, yes? Sublet, furnished, two days ago yet. Nice peoples. "

Well, at that I stares at Vee and she stares back. 

"Whaddye mean, nice?" I demands. 

"Swell peoples, " says the Swede, soundin' the "v" in swell. "Secondfloor. "

"There must be some mistake, " says Vee, "but I suppose we might as wellgo up and see. "

So up we trails to the elevator, me with the suitcase in one hand andthe basket in the other, like a Santa Claus who has lost his way. 

"Mr. Henry Grummidge?" says the neat elevator girl. "Yes'm. Second. "

And in another minute Vee was being greeted in the dark hallway andfolded in impetuous by Ma Grummidge herself. But as we are towed intothe white and gold living room, where half a dozen pink-shaded electricbulbs are blazin', we could see that it wasn't exactly the same Mrs. Gummidge we'd known. She's about the same build, and she has the samenumber of chins. Also there's the old familiar chuckly laugh. But that'sas far as it goes. This Mrs. Gummidge is attired--that's the properword, I expect--in a black satin' evenin' dress that fits her like she'dbeen cast into it. Also her mop of brownish hair has been done up neatand artistic, and with the turquoise necklace danglin' down to herwaist, and the marquise dinner ring flashin' on her right hand, she'smore or less impressive to behold. 

"Why, Mrs. Gummidge!" gasps Vee. 

"I just thought that's what you'd say, " says she. "But wait 'till you'veseen Rowena. Come, dearie; here's comp'ny. "

She was dead right. It was a case of waitin' to see Rowena, and we heldour breaths while she rustled in. Say, who'd have thought that a fewclothes could make such a difference? For instead of the big sloppyyoung female who used to slouch, gigglin' around the basement whoshould breeze in but a zippy young lady, a bit heavy about the shouldersmaybe for that flimsy style of costume, but more or less stunning, forall that. Rowena had bloomed out. In fact, she had the lilies of thefield lookin' like crepe paper imitations. 

And we'd no sooner caught our breath after inspectin' her than Horatiomakes an entrance, and we behold the youngster whose usual costume wasan old gray sweater and a pair of baggy pants now sportin' a suit ofyoung hick raiment that any shimmy hound on Times Square would have beenglad to own. Slit pockets? Oh my, yes; and a soft collar that matchedhis lilac striped shirt, and cuff links and socks that toned in withboth, and a Chow dog on a leather leash. 

Then Pa Gummidge, shaved and slicked up as to face and hair, his bowlegsin a pair of striped weddin' trousers and the rest of him draped in afrock coat and a fancy vest, with gold eyeglasses hung on him by a blackribbon. He's puffin' away at a Cassadora cigar that must have measuredseven inches over-all when it left the box. In fact, the Gummidges aredisplayin' all the usual marks of wealth and refinement. 

"But tell me, " gasps Vee, "what on earth has happened? How did--did youget it?"

"Oil, " says Pa Gummidge. 

Vee looks blank. "I--I don't understand, " says she. 

"Lemme guess, " says I. "You mean you struck a gusher on the sheepranch?"

"I didn't, " says Gummidge. "Them experts I leased the land to did, though. Six hundred barrels per, and still spoutin' strong. They pay mea royalty on every barrel, too. "

"Oh!" says I. "Then you and Brother Jim--"

"Poor Jim!" says Henry. "Too bad he couldn't have hung on long enough toenjoy some of it. Enough for both. Lord, yes! Just my luck to lose him. Only brother I ever had. But he's missin' a lot of trouble, at that. Having to eat with your coat on, for one thing. And this grapefruit forbreakfast nonsense. I'm always squirtin' myself in the eye. "

"Isn't that just like Henry?" chuckles Ma Gummidge. "Why, he grumblesbecause the oil people send him checks so often and he has to mail 'emto his bank. But his rheumatism's lots better and we're all havin' thebest time. My, it--it's 'most like being in Heaven. "

She meant it, too, every word. There wasn't an ounce of joy that MaGummidge was missin'. 

"And it's so nice for you to be here in a comfortable apartment, insteadof in some big hotel, " says Vee. 

"Henry's notion, " says Mrs. Gummidge. "You remember the Whitleys thatcomplained about him? He had an idea Whitley's business was peteringout. Well, it was, and he was glad enough to sub-let to Henry. Neverknew, either, until after the lease was signed, who we were. Furnishedkind of nice, don't you think?"

"Why, Ma!" protests Rowena. Then she turns to Vee. "Of course, it'll dofor a while, until we find something decent up on Riverside Drive; onewith a motor entrance, you know. You're staying for dinner, aren't you?"

"Why, " begins Vee, glancin' doubtful at me, "I think we----"

"Oh, do stay!" chimes in Ma Gummidge. "I did the marketing myself today;and say, there's a rib roast of beef big enough for a hotel, mushroomsraised under glass, an alligator pear salad, and hothouse strawberriesfor dessert. Besides, you're about the only folks we know that we couldask to dinner. Please, now!"

So we stayed and was waited on by two haughty near-French maids whotried to keep the Gummidges in their places, but didn't more than halfsucceed. 

As we left, Rowena discovers for the first time all the hand luggage. "Oh!" says she, eyeing the suitcase. "You are in town for the week-end, are you?"

"Not exactly, " says' I. "Just a few things for a fam'ly that Vee thoughtmight need 'em. "

And Vee gets out just in time to take the lid off a suppressed snicker. "Only think!" says she. "The Gummidges living like this!"

"I'm willing, " says I. "I get back my shirts. "

CHAPTER IV

FINDING OUT ABOUT BUDDY

The best alibi I can think up is that I did it offhand and casual. Somehow, at the time it didn't seem like what people would call animportant step in my career. No. Didn't strike me that way at all. Looked like a side issue, a trifle. There was no long debate overwhether I would or wouldn't, no fam'ly council, no advice from friends. Maybe I took a second look, might have rubbed my chin thoughtful once, and then I said I would. 

But most of the big stuff, come to think of it, gets put over like that;from gettin' engaged to havin' the news handed you that you're agrand-daddy. Course, you might be workin' up to it for a long time, butyou're so busy on other lines that you hardly notice. Then all of asudden--Bing! Lots of young hicks' start in on a foxtrot all free andclear, and before the orchestra has swung into the next one-step they'vesaid the fatal words that gets 'em pushing a baby carriage within ayear. Same with a lot of other moves that count big. 

Gettin' Buddy wished on us, for instance. I remember, I wasn't payin'much attention to what the barber was sayin'. You don't have to, youknow; 'specially when they're like Joe Sarello, who generally has a lotto say. He'd been discoursin' on several subjects--how his cousin Carmelwas gettin' on with his coal and wood business up in New Rochelle, whatthe League of Nations really ought to do to the Zecho-Slovacks, how muchthe landlord has jumped his rent, and so on. 

Then he begun talkin' about pups. I was wonderin' if Joe wasn't takingtoo much hair off the sides, just above the ears. He's apt to when hegets runnin' on. Still, I'd rather take a chance with him than get mytrimmin' done in the big shop at the arcade of the Corrugated Buildin', where they shift their shear and razor artists so often you hardly getto know one by sight before he's missin'. But Joe Sarello, out here atHarbor Hills, with his little two-chair joint opposite the station, he'sa fixture, a citizen. If he gets careless and nicks you on the ear youcan drop in every mornin' and roast him about it. Besides, when he opensa chat he don't have to fish around and guess whether you're a reg'larperson with business in town, or if you're a week-end tourist just blownin from Oconomowoc or Houston. He knows all about you, and the family, and your kitchen help, and about Dominick, who does your outside workand tends the furnace. 

He was tellin' me that his litter of pups was comin' on fine. I expect Isays "Uh-huh, " or something like that. The news didn't mean much to me. I was about as thrilled as if he'd been quotin' the f. O. B. Price ofnew crop Brazil nuts. In fact, he'd mentioned this side line of hisbefore. Barberin' for commuters left him more or less time for suchenterprises. But it might have been Angora goats he was raisin', orwater buffalo, or white mice. 

"You no lika da dogs, hey?" asks Joe, kind of hurt. 

"Eh?" says I, starin' critical into the mirror to see if he hadn'tamputated more from the left side than the right. "Oh sure! I like dogswell enough. That is, real doggy dogs; not these little imitation parlorinsects, like Poms and Pekes and such. Ain't raisin' that kind, are you, Joe?"

Joe chuckles, unbuttons me from the apron, brushes a lot of short hairdown my neck, and holds a hand mirror so I can get a rear elevation viewof my noble dome. "Hah!" says he. "You must see. I show you dogs what isdogs. Come. "

And after I've retrieved my collar and tie I follows him out back wherein a lean-to shed he has a chicken wire pen with a half dozen or so ofas cute, roly-poly little puppies as you'd want to see. They're sort ofrusty brown and black, with comical long heads and awkward big paws, andstubby tails. And the way they was tumbling over each other, tryin' tochew with their tiny teeth, and scrimmagin' around like so many boysplayin' football in a back lot--well, I couldn't help snickerin' justwatchin' 'em for a minute. 

"All spoke for but dees wan, " says Joe, fishing out one of the lot. "Meester Parks he pick heem first wan, but now he hafta go by Chicagoand no can take. Fine chance for you. With beeg place like you got youneed good watch dog. Hey? What you say?"

"What's the breed, Joe?" I asks. 

Joe gawps at me disgusted. I expect such ignorance was painful. "Wotkind?" says he. "Wot you t'ink? Airedale. "

"Oh, yes! Of course, Airedales, " says I, like it was something I'dforgotten. 

And then I scratches my head. Hadn't I heard Vee sayin' how she likedsome particular kind of a dog? And wasn't it this kind? Why, sure, itwas. Well, why not? Joe says they're all ready to be delivered, justweaned and everything. 

"I'll go you, " says I. "How much?"

Say, I had to gasp when Joe names his bargain price. You see, I'd neverbeen shoppin' for dogs before, and I hadn't kept track of the puppymarket quotations. Course, I knew that some of these fancy, full-grownspecimens of classy breeds brought big money at times. But little pupslike this, that you could hold in your hand, or tuck into your overcoatpocket--why, my idea was the people who had 'em sort of distributed 'emaround where they would have good homes; or else in the case of a partylike Joe you might slip him a five or a ten. 

No, I ain't tellin' what I paid. Not to anybody. But after sayin' what Ihad I couldn't back out without feelin' like a piker. And when Joe saysconfidential how he's knockin' off ten at that I writes out the checkmore or less cheerful. 

"Ought to be good blood in him, at that figure, " I suggests. 

"Heem!" says Joe. "He got pedigree long lak your arm. Hees mothair eesfrom Lady Glen Ellen III. , hees father ees blue ribbon winner two tam, Laird Ben Nevis, what was sell for----"

"Yes, I expect the fam'ly hist'ry's all right, " I breaks in. "I'll takeyour word for it. But what do we feed him--dog biscuit?"

"No, no!" says Joe. "Not yet. Some bread wit' milk warm up in pan. T'ree, four tam a day. Bymeby put in leetle scrap cook meat an' let himhave soup bone for chew. Mus' talk to heem all tam. He get wise quick. You see. "

"You flatter me, Joe, " says I. "Nobody ever got wise from my talkin' to'em. Might be interestin' to try it on a pup, though. So long. "

And as I strolls along home with this warm, wriggly bunch of fur in thecrook of my arm I get more and more pleased with myself. As I dopes itout I ought to make quite a hit, presenting Vee with something she'sbeen wantin' a long time. Almost as though I'd had it raised specialfor her, and had been keepin' it secret for months. Looked like I wasdue to acquire merit in the domestic circle, great gobs of it. 

"Hey, Vee!" I sings out, as soon as I've opened the livin' room door. "Come see what I've brought you. "

She wasn't long coming, and I got to admit that when I displays Mr. Pupthe expected ovation don't come off. I don't get mixed up in any fondand impetuous embrace. No. If I must tell the truth she stands therewith her mouth open starin' at me and it. 

"Why--why, Torchy!" she gasps. "A puppy?"

"Right, first guess, " says I. "By the way you're gawpin' at it, though, it might be a young zebra or a baby hippopotamus. But it's just a merepuppy. Airedale. "

"Oh!" says Vee, gaspier than ever. "An--an Airedale?"

"Well?" says I. "Wasn't that the kind I've heard you boostin' allalong?"

"Ye-e-es, " says she, draggy, "I--I suppose it was. And I do admire themvery much, but--well, I hadn't really thought of owning one. They--theyare such strenuous dogs, you know; and with the baby and all----"

"Say, take a look!" I breaks in. "Does this one size up like he was achild eater? Here, heft him once. " And I hands him over. 

Course, it ain't five minutes before she's cuddlin' him up and cooin' tohim, and he's gnawing away at her thumb with his little puppy teeth. 

"Such a dear!" says Vee. "And we could keep him out in the garage, andhave Dominick look after him, couldn't we? For they get to be such bigdogs, you know. "

"Do they?" says I. 

I didn't see quite how they could. Why, this one was about big enough togo in a hat, that's all, and he was nearly two months old. But say, whatI didn't know about Airedale pups was a heap. Grow! Honest, you couldalmost watch him lengthen out and fill in. Yet for a couple of weeksthere he was no more'n a kitten, and just as cute and playful. Everynight after dinner I'd spend about an hour rollin' him over on his backand lettin' him bite away at my bare hand. He liked to get hold of mytrouser leg, or Vee's dress, or the couch cover, or anything else thatwas handy, and tug away and growl. Reg'lar circus to see him. 

And then I begun to find scratches on my hands. The little rascal wasgettin' a full set of puppy teeth. Sharp as needles, too. I noticed afew threads pulled out of my sleeve. And once when he got a good grip onVee's skirt he made a rip three inches long. But he was so cunnin' aboutit we only laughed. 

"You young rough houser!" I'd say, and push him over. He'd come rightback for more, though, until he was tuckered and then he'd stretch outon something soft and sleep with one paw over his nose while we watchedadmirin'. 

We had quite a time findin' a name for him. I got Joe to give hispedigree all written out and we was tryin' to dope out from thatsomething that would sound real Scotch. Vee got some kennel catalogues, too, and read over some of those old Ian MacLaren stories for names, butwe couldn't hit on one that just suited. Meanwhile I begins callin' himBuddy, as the boys did everybody in the army, and finally Vee insiststhat it's exactly the name for him. 

"He's so rough and ready, " says she. 

"He's rough, all right, " says I, examinin' a new tooth mark on the backof my hand. 

And he kept on gettin' rougher. What he really needed, I expect, was acouple of cub bears to exercise his teeth and paws on; good, husky, tough-skinned ones, at that. Not havin' 'em he took it out on us. Oh, yes. Not that he was to blame, exactly. We'd started him that way, andhe seemed to like the taste of me 'specially. 

"They're one-man dogs, you know, " says Vee. 

"Meanin', " says I, "that they like to chew one man at a time. See myright wrist. Looks like I'd shoved it through a pane of glass. Hey, youtarrier! Lay off me for a minute, will you? For the love of soup eatsomething else. Here's a slipper. Now go to it. "

And you should see him shake and worry that around the room. Almost asgood as a vaudeville act--until I discovers that he's gnawed a holeclear through the toe. "Gosh!" says I. "My favorite slipper, too. "

At four months he was no longer a handful. He was a lapful, and thensome. Somewhere near twenty-five pounds, as near as we could judge byholding him on the bathroom scales for the fraction of a second. Andmuch too lively for any lap. Being cuddled wasn't his strong point. Hardly. He'd be all over you in a minute, clawin' you in the face withhis big paws and nippin' your ear or grabbin' a mouthful of hair; allplayful enough, but just as gentle as being tackled by a quarterback onan end run. 

And he was gettin' wise, all right. He knew to the minute when mealtimecame around, and if he wasn't let out on the kitchen porch where hischow was served he thought nothing of scratchin' the paint off a door ortryin' to chew the knob. Took only two tries to teach him to stand up onhis hind legs and walk for his meals, as straight as a drum major. Alsohe'd shake hands for a bit of candy, and retrieve a rubber ball. Butchiefly he delighted to get a stick of soft wood and go prancin' throughthe house with it, rappin' the furniture or your shins as he went, andend up by chewin' it to bits on the fireplace hearth rug. Or it might bea smelly old bone that he'd smuggled in from outside. You could guessthat would get Vee registerin' a protest and I'd have to talk to Buddy. 

"Hey!" I'd remark, grabbin' him by the collar. "Whaddye think this is, asoap fact'ry? Leggo that shin-bone. "

"Gr-r-r-r!" he'd remark back, real hostile, and roll his eyes menacin'. 

At which Vee would snicker and observe: "Now isn't he the dearest thingto do that, Torchy? Do let him have his booful bone there. I'll spread anewspaper under it. "

Her theory was good, only Buddy didn't care to gnaw his bone on anevening edition. He liked eatin' it on the Turkish rug better. Andthat's where he did eat it. That was about the way his trainin' workedout in other things. We had some perfectly good ideas about what heshould do; he'd have others, quite different; and we'd compromise. Thatis, we'd agree that Buddy was right. Seemed to me about the only thingto do, unless you had all day or all night to argue with him and showhim where he was wrong. I could keep it up for an hour or two. Then Ieither got hoarse or lost my disposition. 

You remember there was some talk of keepin' him in the garage at first. Anyway, it was mentioned. And he was kept there the first night, untilsomewhere around 2 A. M. Then I trailed out in a bathrobe and slippersand lugged him in. He'd howled for three hours on a stretch and seemedto be out for the long-distance championship. Not havin' looked up thepast performances in non-stop howlin' I couldn't say whether he'd hungup a new record or not. I was willin' to concede the point. Besides, Iwanted a little sleep, even if he didn't. I expect we was lucky that hepicks out a berth behind the kitchen stove as the proper place for himto snooze. He might have fancied the middle of our bed. If he had, we'dcamped on the floor, I suppose. 

Another good break for us was the fact that he was willin' to betethered out daytimes on a wire traveler that Dominick fixed up for him. Course, he did dig up a lot of Vee's favorite dahlia bulbs, and healmost undermined a corner of the kitchen wing when he set out to put achoice bone in cold storage, but he was so comical when he tamped thebone down with his nose that Vee didn't complain. 

"We can have the hole filled in and sodded over next spring, " says Vee. 

"Huh!" I says. "By next spring he'll be big enough to tunnel clear underthe house. "

Looked like he would. At five months Buddy weighed 34 pounds and tojudge by his actions most of him was watchspring steel geared in highspeed. He was as hard as nails all over and as quick-motioned as a cat. I'd got into the habit of turnin' him loose when I came home andindulgin' in a half hour's rough house play with him. Buddy liked that. He seemed to need it in his business of growin' up. If I happened toforget, he wasn't backward in remindin' me of the oversight. He'ddeveloped a bark that was sort of a cross between an automobile shriekerand throwin' a brick through a plate glass window, and when he put hiswhole soul into expressin' his feelin's that way everybody within a mileneeded cotton in their ears. So I'd drape myself in an old raincoat, puton a pair of heavy drivin' gauntlets, and frisk around with him. 

No doubt about Buddy's being glad to see me on them occasions. Hisaffection was deep and violent. He'd let out a few joy yelps, take aturn around the yard, and then come leapin' at me with his mouth openand his eyes rollin' wild. My part of the game was to grab him by theback of the neck and throw him before he could sink his teeth into anypart of me. Sometimes I missed. That was a point for Buddy. Then I'd pryhis jaws loose and he'd dash off for another circle. I couldn't say howthe score averaged. I was too busy to keep count. About fifty-fiftywould be my guess. Anyway, it did Buddy a lot of good and must have beenfine practice. If he ever has to stop an offensive on the part of aninvadin' bull-dog he'll be in good trim. He'd tackle one, all right. Thebook we bought says that an Airedale will go up a tree after a mountainlion. I can believe it. I've never seen Buddy tuck his tail down foranything on four legs. Yet he ain't the messy kind. He don't seemanxious to start anything. But I'll bet he'd be a hard finisher. 

And he sure is a folksy dog with the people he knows around the house. Most of 'em he treats gentler than he does me, which shows that he's gotsome sense. And when it comes to the baby; why, say, he'll gaze asadmirin' at young Master Richard toddlin' around as if he was some bloodrelation; followin' him everywhere, with that black nose nuzzled underone of the youngster's arms, or with a sleeve held tender in his teeth. Any kid at all Buddy is strong for. He'll leave a bone or his play anytime he catches sight of one, and go prancin' around 'em, waggin' hisstubby tail friendly and inviting 'em to come have a romp. 

Maybe you wouldn't accuse Buddy of being handsome. I used to thinkAiredales was about the homeliest dogs on the list. Mostly, you know, they're long on nose. It starts between their ears and extends straightout for about a foot. Gives 'em kind of a simple expression. But you geta good look into them brown eyes of Buddy's, 'specially when he'slistenin' to you with his head cocked on one side and an ear turnedwrong side out, and you'll decide he must have some gray matterconcealed somewhere. Then there's that black astrakan coat-effect on hisback, and the clean-cut lines of his deep chest and slim brown legs, which are more or less decorative. Anyway he got so he looked kind ofgood to me. 

Like people, though, Buddy had his bad days. Every once in a while hisfondness for chewin' things would get him in wrong. Then he'd have tobe scolded. And you can't tell me he don't know the meanin' of the wordswhen you call him a "bad, bad dog. " No, sir. Why, he'd drop his head andtail and sneak into a corner as if he'd been struck with a whip. Andhalf an hour later he'd be up to the same sort of mischief. I asked JoeSarello about it. 

"Ah!" says Joe, shruggin' his shoulders. "Hees puppy yet. Wanna do w'athe lak, all tam. He know better, but he strong in the head. You gottabeat him up good. No can hurt. Tough lak iron. Beat him up. "

But Vee won't have it. I didn't insist. I didn't care much for the job. So Buddy gets off by being informed stern that he'd a bad, bad dog. 

And then here the other day I comes home to find Buddy locked in thegarage and howlin' indignant. Vee says he mustn't be let out, either. 

"What's the idea?" I asks. 

Then I gets the whole bill of complaint. It seems Buddy has started theday by breakin' loose from his wire and chasin' the chickens all overthe place. He'd cornered our pet Rhode Island Red rooster and nipped outa mouthful of tail feathers. It took the whole household and some of theneighbors to get him to quit that little game. 

This affair had almost been forgiven and he was havin' his lunch on theback porch when Vee's Auntie blows in unexpected for a little visit. Before anybody has time to stop him Buddy is greetin' her in his usualimpetuous manner. He does it by plantin' his muddy forepaws in threeplaces on the front of her dress and then grabbin' her gold lorgnetteplayful, breakin' the chain, and runnin' off with the loot. 

I expect that was only Buddy's idea of letting her know that he welcomedher as a member of the fam'ly in good standin'. But Auntie takes itdifferent. She asks Vee why we allow a "horrible beast like that to runat large. " She's a vivid describer, Auntie. She don't mind droppin' aword of good advice now and then either. While she's being sponged offand brushed down she recommends that we get rid of such a dangerousanimal as that at once. 

So Buddy is tied up again outside. But it appears to be his day fordoing the wrong thing. Someone has hung Vee's best evenin' wrap out on aline to air after having a spot cleaned. It's the one with the silverfox fur on the collar. And it's hung where Buddy can just reach it. Well, you can guess the rest. Any kind of a fox, deceased or otherwise, is fair game for Buddy. It's right in his line. And when they discoveredwhat he was up to there wasn't a piece of that fur collar big enough tomake an ear muff. Parts of the wrap might still be used for polishin'the silver. Buddy seemed kind of proud of the thorough job he'd made. 

Well, Vee had been 'specially fond of that wrap. She'd sort of blownherself when she got it, and you know how high furs have gone to thesedays. I expect she didn't actually weep, but she must have been near it. And there was Auntie with more stern advice. She points out how a brutedog with such destructive instincts would go on and on, chewin' up firstone valuable thing and then another, until we'd have nothing left butwhat we had on. 

Buddy had been tried and found guilty in the first degree. Sentence hadbeen passed. He must go. 

"Perhaps your barber friend will take him back, " says Vee. "Or theEllinses might want him. Anyway, he's impossible. You must get rid ofhim tonight. Only I don't wish to know how, or what becomes of him. "

"Very well, " says I, "if that's the verdict. "

I loads Buddy ostentatious into the little roadster and starts off, withhim wantin' to sit all over me as usual, or else drapin' himself on thedoor half-way out of the car. Maybe I stopped at Joe Sarello's, maybe Ionly called at the butcher's and collected a big, juicy shin-bone. Anyway, it was' after dark when I got back and when I came in to dinnerI was alone. 

The table chat that evenin' wasn't quite as lively as it generally is. And after we'd been sitting around in the livin' room an hour or so witheverything quiet, Vee suddenly lets loose with a sigh, which is a newstunt for her. She ain't the sighin' kind. But there's no mistake aboutthis one. 

"Eh?" says I, lookin' up. 

"I--I hope you found him a good home, " says she. 

"Oh!" says I. "The impossible beast? Probably as good as he deserves. "

Then we sat a while longer. 

"Little Richard was getting very fond of him, " Vee breaks out again. 

"Uh-huh, " says I. 

We went upstairs earlier than usual. There wasn't so much to do aboutgettin' ready--no givin' Buddy a last run outside, or makin' him shake agood night with his paw, or seein' that he had water in his dish. Nothing but turnin' out the lights. Once, long after Vee should havebeen asleep. I thought I heard her snifflin', but I dozed off againwithout makin' any remark. 

I must have been sawin' wood good and hard, too, when I wakes up to findher shakin' me by the shoulder. 

"Listen, Torchy, " she's sayin'. "Isn't that Buddy's bark?"

"Eh? Buddy?" says I. "How could it be?"

"But it is!" she insists. "It's coming from the garage, too. "

"Well, that's odd, " says I. "Maybe I'd better go out and see. "

I was puzzled all right, in spite of the fact that I'd left him therewith his bone and had made Dominick promise to stick around and quiethim if he began yelpin'. But this wasn't the way Buddy generally barkedwhen he was indignant. He was lettin' 'em out short and crisp. Theysounded different somehow, more like business. And the light was turnedon in the garage!

First off I thought Dominick must be there. Maybe I wouldn't have dashedout so bold if I'd doped it out any other way. I hadn't thought of carthieves. Course, there had been some cases around, mostly young hicksfrom the village stealin' joy-rides. But I hadn't worried about theirwantin' to take my little bus. So I arrives on the jump. 

And there in a corner of the garage are two young toughs, jumpin' anddodgin' at a lively rate, with Buddy sailin' into 'em for all he's worthand givin' out them quick short battle cries. One of the two has justmanaged to get hold of a three-foot length of galvanized water pipe andis swingin' vicious at Buddy when I crashes in. 

Well, we had it hectic for a minute or so there, but it turns out a drawwith no blood shed, although I think Buddy and I could have made 'emsorry they came if they hadn't made a break and got past us. And when wegets back to where Vee is waitin' with the fire-poker in her hand Buddystill waves in his teeth a five-inch strip of brown mixture trousering. 

"You blessed, blessed Buddy!!" says Vee, after she's heard the tale. 

Oh, yes, Buddy finished the night behind the stove in the kitchen. Iguess he's kind of earned his right to that bunk. Course, he ain'tsprouted any wings yet, but he's gettin' so the sight of a switch wavedat him works wonders. Some day, perhaps, he'll learn to be less carelesswhat he exercises them sharp teeth of his on. Last night it was theleather covering on the library couch--chewed a hole half as big as yourhand. 

"Never mind, " says Vee. "We can keep a cushion over it. "

CHAPTER V

IN DEEP FOR WADDY

And all the time I had Wadley Fiske slated as a dead one! Course, he wasone of Mr. Robert's clubby friends. But that don't always count. He maybe choosey enough picking live wires for his office staff, Mr. Robert, as you might guess by my bein' his private sec; but when it came togettin' a job lot of friends wished on him early in his career, I mustsay he couldn't have been very finicky. 

Not that Waddy's a reg'lar washout, or carries a perfect vacuum betweenthe ears, or practices any of the seven deadly sins. He's a cheerful, good-natured party, even if he is built like a 2x4 and about as broad inthe shoulders as a cough drop is thick. I understand he qualifies in thescheme of things by playin' a fair game of billiards, is always willingto sit in at bridge, and can make himself useful at any function wherethe ladies are present. Besides, he always wears the right kind ofclothes, can say bright little things at a dinner party, and cangenerally be located by calling up any one of his three clubs. 

Chiefly, though, Waddy is a ladies' man. With him being in and out ofthe Corrugated General Offices so much I couldn't help gettin' more orless of a line on him that way, for he's always consultin' Mr. Robertabout sendin' flowers to this one, or maneuverin' to get introduced tothe other, or gushin' away about some sweet young thing that he's metthe night before. 

"How does he get away with all that Romeo stuff, " I asks Mr. Robertonce, "without being tagged permanent? Is it just his good luck?"

"Waddy calls it his hard luck, " says Mr. Robert. "It seems as if theyjust use him to practice on. He will find a new queen of his heart, appear to be getting on swimmingly up to a certain point--and then shewill marry someone else. Invariably. I've known of at least a half dozenof his affairs to turn out like that. "

"Kind of a matrimonial runner-up, eh?" says I. 

Oh, yes, I expect we got off a lot of comic lines about Waddy. Anyway wepassed 'em as such. But of course there come days when we have otherthings to do here at the Corrugated besides shoot the gay and frivolouschatter back and forth. Now and then. Such as here last Wednesday whenMr. Robert had two committee meetin's on for the afternoon and was goin'over with me some tabulated stuff I'd doped out for the annual report. Right in the midst of that Wadley Fiske blows in and proceeds to hammerMr. Robert on the back. 

"I say, Bob, " says he, "you remember my telling you about the lovelyMarcelle Jedain? I'm sure I told you. "

"If you didn't it must have been an oversight, " says Mr. Robert. "Suppose we admit that you did. "

"Well, what do you think?" goes on Waddy, "She is here!"

"Eh?" says Mr. Robert, glancin' around nervous. "Why the deuce do youbring her here?"

"No, no, my dear chap!" protests Waddy. "In this country, I mean. "

"Oh!" and Mr. Robert sighs relieved. "Well, give the young lady my bestregards and--er--I wish you luck. Thanks for dropping in to tell me. "

"Not at all, " says Waddy, drapin' himself easy on a chair. "But that'sjust the beginning. "

"Sorry, Waddy, " says Mr. Robert, "but I fear I am too busy just nowto----"

"Bah!" snorts Waddy. "You can attend to business any time--tomorrow, next week, next month. But the lovely Marcelle may be sailing withinforty-eight hours. "

"Well, what do you expect me to do?" demands Mr. Robert. "Want me toscuttle the steamer?"

"I want you to help me find Joe Bruzinski, " says Waddy. 

Mr. Robert throws up both hands and groans. "Here, Torchy, " says, he, "take him away. Listen to his ravings, and if you can discover anysense----"

"But I tell you, " insists Waddy, "that I must find Bruzinski at once. "

"Very well, " says Mr. Robert, pushin' him towards the door. "Torchy willhelp you find him. Understand, Torchy? Bruzinski. Stay with him until hedoes. "

"Yes, sir, " says I, grinnin' as I locks an arm through one of Waddy'sand tows him into the outer office. "Bruzinski or bust. "

And by degrees I got the tale. First off, this lovely Marcelle personwas somebody he'd met while he was helpin' wind up the great war. No, not on the Potomac sector. Waddy actually got across. You might notthink it to look at him, but he did. Second lieutenant, too. Infantry, at that. But they handed out eommissions to odder specimens than him atPlattsburg, you know. And while Waddy got over kind of late he had theluck to be in a replacement unit that made the whoop-la advance intoBelgium after the Hun line had cracked. 

Seems it was up in some dinky Belgian town where the Fritzies had beenrunnin' things for four years that Waddy meets this fair lady with theimpulsive manners. His regiment had wandered in only a few hours afterthe Germans left and to say that the survivin' natives was glad to see'em is drawin' it mild. This Miss Jedain was the gladdest of the glad, and when Waddy shows up at her front door with a billet ticket callin'for the best front room she just naturally falls on his neck. I take ithe got kissed about four times in quick concussion. Also that the flavorlasted. 

"To be received in that manner by a high born, charming young woman, "says Waddy. "It--it was delightful. Perhaps you can imagine. "

"No, " says I. "I ain't got that kind of a mind. But go on. What's therest?"

Well, him and the lovely Marcelle had three days of it. Not going to afond clinch every time he came down to breakfast or drifted in forluncheon. She simmered down a bit, I under stand, after her first wildsplurge. But she was very folksy all through his stay, insisted thatWaddy was her heroic deliverer, and all that sort of thing. 

"Of course, " says Waddy, "I tried to tell her that I'd had very littleto do personally with smashing the Hindenburg line. But she wouldn'tlisten to a word. Besides, my French was rather lame. So we--we--Well, we became very dear to each other. She was charming, utterly. And sofull of gratitude to all America. She could not do enough for our boys. All day she was going among them, distributing little dainties she hadcooked, giving them little keepsakes, smiling at them, singing to them. And every night she had half a dozen officers in to dinner. But tome--ah, I can't tell you how sweet she was. "

"Don't try, " says I. "I think I get a glimmer. All this lasted threedays, eh! Then you moved on. "

Waddy sighs deep. "I didn't know until then how dreadful war could be, "says he. "I promised to come back to her just as soon as the awful messwas over. She declared that she would come to America if I didn't. Shegave me one of her rings. 'It shall be as a token, ' she told me, 'that Iam yours. '"

"Sort of a trunk check, eh?" says I. 

"Ah, that ring!" says Waddy. "You see, it was too large for my littlefinger too small for any of the others. And I was afraid of losing it ifI kept it in my pocket. I was always losing things--shaving mirrors, socks, wrist watch. Going about like that one does. At least, I did. Allover France I scattered my belongings. That's what you get by having hada valet for so long. 

"So I called up Joe Bruzinski, my top sergeant. Best top in the army, Joe; systematic, methodical. I depended upon him for nearly everything;couldn't have gotten along without him, in fact. Not an educated fellow, you know. Rather crude. An Americanized Pole, I believe. But efficient, careful about little things. I gave him the ring to keep for me. Lessthan a week after that I was laid up with a beastly siege of influenzawhich came near finishing me. I was shipped back to a base hospital andit was more than a month before I was on my feet again. Meanwhile I'dgotten out of touch with my division, applied for a transfer to anotherbranch, got stuck with an S. O. S. Job, and landed home at the tail-endof everything after all the shouting was over. "

"I see, " says I. "Bruzinski lost in the shuffle. "

"Precisely, " says Waddy. "Mustered out months before I was. When I didget loose they wouldn't let me go back to Belgium. And then----"

"I remember, " says I. "You side-tracked the lovely Marcelle for thatlittle blonde from. Richmond, didn't you?"

"A mere passing fancy, " says Waddy, flushin' up. "Nothing serious. Shewas really engaged all the time to Bent Hawley. They're to be marriednext month, I hear. But Marcelle! She has come. Just think, she has beenin this country for weeks, came over with the King and Queen of Belgiumand stayed on. Looking for me. I suppose. And I knew nothing at allabout it until yesterday. She's in Washington. Jimmy Carson saw herdriving down Pennsylvania avenue. He was captain of my company, youknow. Rattle-brained chap, Jimmy. Hadn't kept track of Bruzinski at all. Knew he came back, but no more. So you see? In order to get that ring Imust find Joe. "

"I don't quite get you, " says I. "Why not find the lovely Marcelle firstand explain about the ring afterwards?"

Waddy shakes his head. "I was in uniform when she knew me, " says he. "I--I looked rather well in it, I'm told. Anyway, different. But incivies, even a frock coat, I've an idea she wouldn't recognize me as anoble hero. Eh?"

"Might be something in that, " I admits. 

"But if I had the ring that she gave me--her token--well, you see?" goeson Waddy. "I must have it. So I must find Bruzinski. "

"Yes, that's your play, " I agrees. "Where did he hail from?"

"Why, from somewhere in Pennsylvania, " says Waddy; "some weird littleplace that I never could remember the name of. "

"Huh!" says I. "Quite a sizable state, you know. You couldn't ramblethrough it in an afternoon pagin' Joe Bruzinski. "

"I suppose one couldn't, " says Waddy. "But there must be some way oflocating him. Couldn't I telegraph to the War Department?"

"You could, " says I, "and about a year from next Yom Kippur you mightget a notice that your wire had been received and placed on file. Why, they're still revisin' casualty lists from the summer of 1918. If you'rein any hurry about gettin' in touch with Mr. Bruzinski----"

"Hurry!" gasps Waddy. "Why, I must find him by tonight. "

"That's goin' to call for speed, " says I. "I don't see how youcould--Say, now! I just thought of something. We might tickle Uncle Samin the W. R. I. B. "

"Beg pardon!" says Waddy, gawpin'. 

"War Risk Insurance Bureau, " I explains. "That is, if Miss Callahan'sstill there. Used to be one of our stenogs until she went into war work. Last I knew she was still at it, had charge of one of the filing cases. They handle soldier's insurance there, you know, and if Bruzinski's kepthis up----"

"By George!" breaks in Waddy. "Of course. Do you know, I never thoughtof that. "

"No, you wouldn't, " says I "May not work, at that. But we can try. She'sa reg'lar person, Miss Callahan. "

Anyway, she knew right where to put her fingers on Joe Bruzinski's cardand shoots us back his mailin' address by lunch time. It's Coffee Creek, Pa. 

"What an absurd place to live in!" says Waddy. "And how on earth can weever find it. "

"Eh?" says I. "We?"

"But I couldn't possibly get there by myself, " says Waddy. "I've neverbeen west of Philadelphia. Oh, yes, I've traveled a lot abroad, butthat's different. One hires a courier. Really, I should be lost out ofNew York. Besides, you know Mr. Robert said you were to--oh, there he isnow. I say, Bob, isn't Torchy to stay with me until I find Bruzinski?"

"Absolutely, " says Mr. Robert, throwin' a grin over his shoulder at meas he slips by. 

"Maybe he thinks that's a life sentence, " says I. "Chuck me thatPathfinder from the case behind you, will you? Now let's see. Here weare, page 937--Coffee Creek, Pa. Inhabitants 1, 500. Flag station on theLackawanna below Wilkes-Barre. That's in the Susquehanna valley. Must bea coal town. Chicago limited wouldn't stop there. But we can probablycatch a jitney or something from Wilkes-Barre. Just got time to make the1:15, too. Come on. Lunch on train. "

I expect Waddy ain't been jumped around so rapid before in his wholecareer. I allows him only time enough to lay in a fresh supply ofcigarettes on the way to the ferry and before he's caught his breath weare sittin' in the dinin' car zoomin' through the north end of NewJersey. I tried to get him interested in the scenery as we poundedthrough the Poconos and galloped past the Water Gap, but it couldn't bedone. When he gets real set on anything it seems Waddy has a singletrack mind. 

"I trust he still has that ring, " he remarks. 

"That'll ride until we've found your ex-top sergeant, " says I. "What washis line before he went in the army--plumber, truck driver, or what?"

Waddy hadn't the least idea. Not having been mixed up in industryhimself, he hadn't been curious. Now that I mentioned it he supposedJoe had done something for a living. Yes, he was almost sure. He hadnoticed that Joe's hands were rather rough and calloused. 

"What would that indicate?" asks Waddy. 

"Most anything, " says I, "from the high cost of gloves to a strike oflady manicures. Don't strain your intellect over it, though. If he'sstill in Coffee Creek there shouldn't be much trouble findin' him. "

Which was where I took a lot for granted. When we piled off the expressat Wilkes-Barre I charters a flivver taxi, and after a half hour's drivewith a speed maniac who must have thought he was pilotin' a DeHavilandthrough the clouds we're landed in the middle of this forsaken, onehorse dump, consistin' of a double row of punk tenement blocks and asprinklin' of near-beer joints that was givin' their last gasp. I triedout three prominent citizens before I found one who savvied English. 

"Sure!" says he. "Joe Bruzinski? He must be the mine boss by Judson'syet. First right hand turn you take and keep on the hill up. "

"Until what?" says I. 

"Why, Judson's operation--the mine, " says he. "Can't miss. Road ends atJudson's. "

Uh-huh. It did. High time, too. A road like that never should be allowedto start anywhere. But the flivver negotiated it and by luck we foundthe mine superintendent in the office--a grizzled, chunky littleWelshman with a pair of shrewd eyes. Yes, he says Bruzinski is aroundsomewhere. He thinks he's down on C level plotting out some newcontracts for the night shift. 

"What luck!" says Waddy. "I say, will you call him right up?"

"That I will, sir, " says the superintendent, "if you'll tell me how. "

"Why, " says Waddy, "couldn't you--er--telephone to him, or send amessenger?"

It seems that can't be done. "You might try shouting down, the shaftthough, " says the Welshman, with a twinkle in his eyes. 

Waddy would have gone hoarse doin' it, too, if I hadn't given him thenudge. "Wake up, " says I. "You're being kidded. "

"But see here, my man----" Waddy begins. 

"Mr. Llanders is the name, " says the superintendent a bit crisp. 

"Ah, yes. Thanks, " says Waddy. "It is quite important, Mr. Llanders, that I find Bruzinski at once. "

"Mayhap he'll be up by midnight for a bite to eat, " says Llanders. 

"Then we'll just have to go down where he is, " announces Waddy. 

Llanders stares at him curious. "You'd have an interesting time doingthat, young man, " says he; "very interesting. "

"But I say, " starts in Waddy again, which was where I shut him off. 

"Back up, Waddy, " says I, "before you bug the case entirely. Let me askMr. Llanders where I can call up your good friend Judson. "

"That I couldn't rightly say, sir, " says Llanders. "It might be oneplace, and it might be another. Maybe they'd know better at the officeof his estate in Scranton, but as he's been dead these eight years----"

"Check!" says I. "It would have been a swell bluff if it had workedthough, wouldn't it?"

Llanders indulges in a grim smile. "But it didn't, " says he. 

"That's the sad part, " says I, "for Mr. Fiske here is in a great stew tosee this Bruzinski party right away. There's a lady in the case, as youmight know; one they met while they were soldierin' abroad. So ifthere's any way you could fix it for them to get together----"

"Going down's the only way, " says Llanders, "and that's strictly againstorders. "

"Except on a pass, eh?" says I. "Lucky we brought that along. Waddy, slip it to Mr. Llanders. No, don't look stupid. Feel in your right handvest pocket. That's it, one of those yellow-backed ones with a double Xin the corners. Ah, here! Don't you know how to present a governmentpass?" And I has to take it away from him and tuck it careless into thesuperintendent's coat pocket. 

"Of course, " says Llanders, "if you young gentlemen are on officialbusiness, it makes a difference. "

"Then let's hurry along, " says Waddy, startin' impatient. 

"Dressed like that?" says Llanders, starin' at Waddy's Fifth Avenuecostume. "I take it you've not been underground before, sir?"

"Only in the subway, " says Waddy. 

"You'll find a coal mine quite unlike the subway, " says Llanders. "Ithink we can fix you up for it, though. "

They did. And when Waddy had swapped his frock coat for overalls andjumper, and added a pair of rubber boots and a greasy cap with anacetylene lamp stuck in the front of it he sure wouldn't have beenrecognized even by his favorite waiter at the club. I expect I lookedabout as tough, too. And I'll admit that all this preparation seemedkind of foolish there in the office. Ten minutes later I knew it wasn't. Not a bit. 

"Do we go down in a car or something?" asks Waddy. 

"Not if you go with me, " says Llanders. "We'll walk down Slope 8. Beforewe start, however, it will be best for me to tell you that this was adrowned mine. "

"Listens excitin', " says I. "Meanin' what?"

"Four years ago the creek came in on us, " says Llanders, "flooded us towithin ten feet of the shaft mouth. We lost only a dozen men, but it wastwo years before we had the lower levels clear. We manage to keep itdown now with the pumps, Bruzinski is most likely at the further end ofthe lowest level. "

"Is he?" says Waddy. "I must see him, you know. "

Whether he took in all this about the creek's playful little habits ornot I don't know. Anyway, he didn't hang back, and while I've started onevenin' walks that sounded a lot pleasanter I wasn't going to duck then. If Waddy could stand it I guessed I could. 

So down we goes into a black hole that yawns in the middle of a muddyfield. I hadn't gone far, either, before I discovers that being your ownstreet light wasn't such an easy trick. I expect a miner has to wear hislamp on his head so's to have his hands free to swing a pick. But I'llbe hanged if it's comfortable or easy. I unhooked mine and carried it inmy hand, ready to throw the light where I needed it most. 

And there was spots where I sure needed it bad, for this Slope 8proposition was no garden pathway, I'll say. First off, it was mucky andslippery under foot, and in some places it dips down sharp, almost assteep as a church roof. Then again there was parts where they'd skimpedon the ceilin', and you had to do a crouch or else bump your bean onunpadded rocks. On and down, down and on we went, slippin' and slidin', bracin' ourselves against the wet walls, duckin' where it was low andrestin' our necks where they'd been more generous with the excavatin'. 

There was one 'specially sharp pitch of a hundred feet or so and rightin the worst of it we had to dodge a young waterfall that comesfilterin' down through the rocks. It was doin' some roarin' andsplashin', too. I was afraid Llanders might not have noticed it. 

"How about it!" says I. "This ain't another visit from the creek, isit?"

"Only part of it, " says he careless. "The pumps are going, you know. "

"I hope they're workin' well, " says I. 

As for Waddy, not a yip out of him. He sticks close behind Llanders andplugs along just as if he was used to scramblin' through a muddy holethree hundred feet or so below the grass roots. That's what it is to be100 per cent in love. All he could think of was gettin' that ring backand renewin' cordial relations with the lovely Marcelle. But I wasnoticin' enough for two. I knew that we'd made so many twists and turnsthat we must be lost for keeps. I saw the saggy, rotten timbers thatkept the State of Pennsylvania from cavin' in on us. And now and then Iwondered how long it would be before they dug us out. 

"Where's all the coal?" I asks Llanders, just by way of makin' talk. 

"Why, here, " says he, touchin' the side-wall. 

Sure enough, there it was, the real black diamond stuff such as youshovel into the furnace--when you're lucky. I scaled off a piece andtested it with the lamp. And gradually I begun to revise my ideas of acoal mine. I'd always thought of it as a big cave sort of a place, witha lot of miners grouped around the sides pickin' away sociable. But hereis nothing but a maze of little tunnels, criss-crossin' every which way, with nobody in sight except now and then, off in a dead-end, we'd get aglimpse of two or three kind of ghosty figures movin' about solemn. It'sall so still, too. Except in places where we could hear the waterroarin' there wasn't a sound. Only in one spot, off in what Llanderscalls a chamber, we finds two men workin' a compressed air jack-hammer, drillin' holes. 

"They'll be shooting a blast soon, " says Llanders. "Want to wait?"

"No thanks, " says I prompt. "Mr. Fiske is in a rush. "

Maybe I missed something interestin', but with all that rock over myhead I wasn't crazy to watch somebody monkey with dynamite. Thejack-hammer crew gave us a line on where we might find Bruzinski, and Iexpect for a while there I led the way. After another ten-minute stroll, durin' which we dodged a string of coal cars being shunted down a grade, we comes across three miners chattin' quiet in a corner. One of 'emturns out to be the mine-boss. 

"Hey, Joe!" says Llanders. "Somebody wants to see you. "

At which Waddy pushes to the front. "Oh, I say, Bruzinski! Remember me, don't you?" he asks. 

Joe looks him over casual and shakes his head. 

"I'm Lieutenant Fiske, you know, " says Waddy. "That is, I was. "

"Well, I'll be damned!" says Joe earnest. "The Loot! What's up?"

"That ring I gave you in Belgium, " goes on Waddy. "I--I hope you stillhave it?"

"Ye-e-es, " says Joe draggy. "Fact is, I was goin' to use it tomorrow. I'm gettin' engaged. Nice girl, too. I was meanin' to----"

"But you can't, Joe, " breaks in Waddy. "Not with that ring. Miss Jedaingave me that. Here, I'll give you another. How will this do?" And Waddytakes a low set spark off his finger. 

"All right. Fine!" says Joe, and proceeds to unhook the other ring fromhis leather watch, guard. "But what's all the hurry about?"

"Because she's here, " says Waddy. "In Washington, I mean. The lovelyMarcelle. Came over looking for me, Joe, just as she promised. Perhapsyou didn't know she did promise, though?"

"Sure, " says Joe. "That's what she told all of us. "

"Eh?" gasps Waddy. 

"Some hugger, that one, " says Joe. "Swell lady, too. A bear-cat formakin' love, I'll tell the world. Me, and the Cap. , and the First Loot, and you, all the same day. She was goin' to marry us all. And the Cap. , with a wife and two kids back in Binghamton, N. Y. , he got almostnervous over it. "

"I--I can't believe it, " says Waddy gaspy. "Did--did she give you a--atoken, as she did to me?"

"No, " says Joe. "None of us fell quite so hard for her as you did. Iguess we kinda suspected what was wrong with her. "

"Wrong?" echoes Waddy. 

"Why not?" asks Joe. "Four years of the Huns, and then we came blowin'in to lift the lid and let 'em come up out of the cellars. Justnaturally went simple in the head, she did. Lots like her, only theytook it out in different ways. Her line was marryin' us, singly and insquads; overlookin' complete that she had one perfectly good hubby whowas an aide or something to King Albert, as well as three niceyoungsters. We heard about that later, after she'd come to a little. "

For a minute or so Waddy stands there starin' at Joe with his mouth openand his shoulders sagged. Then he slumps on a log and lets his chindrop. 

"Goin' to hunt her up and give back the ring?" asks Joe. "That theidea?"

"Not--not precisely, " says Waddy. "I--I shall send it by mail, I think. "

And all the way out he walked like he was in a daze. He generally takesit hard for a day or so, I understand. So we had that undergroundexcursion all for nothing. That is, unless you count my being able togive Mr. Robert the swift comeback next mornin' when he greets me witha chuckle. 

"Well, Torchy, " says he, "how did you leave Bruzinski?"

"Just where I found him, " says I, "about three hundred feetunderground. "

CHAPTER VI

HOW TORCHY ANCHORED A COOK

It began with Stella Flynn, but it ended with the Hon. Sour Milk andMadam Zenobia. Which is one reason why my job as private sec. To Mr. Robert Ellins is one I wouldn't swap for Tumulty's--unless they cameinsistin' that I had to go to the White House to save the country. Andup to date I ain't had any such call. There's no tellin' though. Mr. Robert's liable to sic 'em onto me any day. 

You see, just because I've happened to pull a few winnin' acts where Ihad the breaks with me he's fond of playin' me up as a wizard performerin almost any line. Course, a good deal of it is just his josh, butsomehow it ain't a habit I'm anxious to cure him of. Yet when he batsthis domestic crisis up to me--this case of Stella Flynn--I did think itwas pushin' the comedy a bit strong. 

"No, " says I, "I'm no miracle worker. "

"Pooh, Torchy!" says Vee. "Who's saying you are? But at least you mighttry to suggest something. You think you're so clever at so many things, you know. "

Trust the folks at home for gettin' in these little jabs. 

"Oh, very well, " says I. "What are the facts about Stella?"

While the bill of particulars is more or less lengthy all it amounts tois the usual kitchen tragedy. Stella has given notice. After havin' beena good and faithful cook for 'steen years; first for Mrs. Ellins'smother, and then being handed on to Mrs. Ellins herself after she andMr. Robert hooked up; now Stella announces that she's about to resignthe portfolio. 

No, it ain't a higher wage scale she's strikin' for. She's been boostedthree times durin' the last six months, until she's probably the bestpaid lady cook on Long Island. And she ain't demandin' an eight-hourday, or recognition as chairman of the downstairs soviet. Stella is amiddle-aged, full-chested, kind of old-fashioned female who probablythinks a Bolshevik is a limb of the Old Boy himself and ought to be metwith holy water in one hand and a red-hot poker in the other. She'ssatisfied with her quarters, havin' a room and bath to herself; she'sgot no active grouch against any of the other help; and being sent tomass every Sunday mornin' in the limousine suits her well enough. 

But she's quittin', all the same. Why? Well, maybe Mr. Robert remembersthat brother Dan of hers he helped set up as a steam fitter out inAltoona some six or seven years ago? Sure it was a kind act. And Dannyhas done well. He has fitted steam into some big plants and someelegant houses. And now Danny has a fine home of his own. Yes, with apiano that plays itself, and gilt chairs in the parlor, and a sedan topon the flivver, and beveled glass in the front door. Also he has astylish wife who has "an evenin' wrap trimmed with vermin and islearnin' to play that auctioneer's bridge game. " So why should hissister Stella be cookin' for other folks when she might be livin' swelland independent with them? Ain't there the four nieces and three nephewsthat hardly knows their aunt by sight? It's Danny's wife herself thatwrote the letter urgin' her to come. 

"And do all the cooking for that big family, I suppose?" suggests Mrs. Ellins. 

"She wasn't after sayin' as much, ma'am, " says Stella, "but would I besittin' in the parlor with my hands folded, and her so stylish? AndDanny always did like my cookin'. "

"Why should he not?" asks Mrs. Ellins. "But who would go on adding toyour savings account? Don't be foolish, Stella. "

All of which hadn't gotten 'em anywhere. Stella was bent flittin' toAltoona. Ten days more and she would be gone. And as Mr. Robert finishesa piece of Stella's blue ribbon mince pies and drops a lump of sugarinto a cup of Stella's unsurpassed after-dinner coffee he lets out asigh. 

"That means, I presume, " says he, "hunting up a suite in some apartmenthotel, moving into town, and facing a near-French menu three times aday. All because our domestic affairs are not managed on a businessbasis. "

"I suppose you would find some way of inducing Stella to stay--if youwere not too busy?" asks Mrs. Robert sarcastic. 

"I would, " says he. 

"What a pity, " says she, "that such diplomatic genius must be confinedto mere business. If we could only have the benefit of some of it here;even the help of one of your bright young men assistants. They wouldknow exactly how to go about persuading Stella to stay, I suppose?"

"They would find a way, " says Mr. Robert. "They would bring a trainedand acute mentality to the problem. "

"Humph!" says Mrs. Robert, tossing her head. "We saw that worked out ina play the other night, you remember. Mr. Wise Business Man solves thedomestic problem by hiring two private detectives, one to act as cook, the other as butler, and a nice mess he made of it. No, thank you. "

"See here, Geraldine, " says Mr. Robert. "I'll bet you a hundred Torchycould go on that case and have it all straightened out inside of aweek. "

"Done!" says Mrs. Robert. 

And in spite of my protests, that's the way I was let in. But I mightnot have started so prompt if it hadn't been for Vee eggin' me on. 

"If they do move into town, you know, " she suggests, "it will be ratherlonesome out here for the rest of the winter. We'll miss going there foran occasional Sunday dinner, too. Besides, Stella ought to be saved fromthat foolishness. She--she's too good a cook to be wasted on such aplace as Altoona. "

"I'll say she is, " I agrees. "I wish I knew where to begin blockin' heroff. "

I expect some people would call it just some of my luck that I picks upa clue less'n ten minutes later. Maybe so. But I had to have my earstretched to get it and even then I might have missed the connection ifI'd been doin' a sleep walkin' act. As it is I'm pikin' past theservants' wing out toward the garage to bring around the little car fora start home, and Stella happens to be telephonin' from the butler'spantry with the window part open. And when Stella 'phones she does itlike she was callin' home the cows. 

About all I caught was "Sure Maggie, dear--Madame Zenobia--two flightsup over the agency--Thursday afternoon. " But for me and Sherlock that'sas good as a two-page description. And when I'd had my rapid-firededucer workin' for a few minutes I'd doped out my big idea. 

"Vee, " says I, when we gets back to our own fireside, "what friend hasStella got that she calls Maggie, dear?"

"Why, that must be the Farlows' upstairs maid, " says she. "Why, Torchy?"

"Oh, for instance, " says I "And didn't you have a snapshot of Stella youtook once last summer?"

Vee says she's sure she has one somewhere. 

"Dig it out, will you?" says I. 

It's a fairly good likeness, too, and I pockets it mysterious. And nextday I spends most of my lunch hour prowlin' around on the Sixth Ave. Hiring line rubberin' at the signs over the employment agencies. Musthave been about the tenth hallway I'd scouted into before I ran acrossthe right one. Sure enough, there's the blue lettered card announcin'that Madame Zenobia can be found in Room 19, third floor, ring bell. Irang. 

I don't know when I've seen a more battered old battle-axe face, or acolder, more suspicious pair of lamps than belongs to this old dame withthe henna-kissed hair and the gold hoops in her ears. 

"Well, young feller, " says she, "if you've come pussyfootin' up herefrom the District Attorney's office you can just sneak back and reportnothing doing. Madame Zenobia has gone out of business. Besides, I ain'tdone any fortune tellin' in a month; only high grade trance work, andmighty little of that. So good day. "

"Oh, come, lady, " says I, slippin' her the confidential smile, "do Ilook like I did fourth-rate gumshoein' for a livin'? Honest, now?Besides, the trance stuff is just what I'm lookin' for. And I'm notexpectin' any complimentary session, either. Here! There's a ten-spoton account. Now can we do business?"

You bet we could. 

"If it's in the realm of Eros, young man, " she begins, "I think----"

"But it ain't, " says I. "No heart complications at all. This ain't evena matter of a missin' relative, a lost wrist watch, or gettin' advice onbuyin' oil stocks. It's a case of a cook with a wilful disposition. Getme? I want her to hear the right kind of dope from the spirit world. "

"Ah!" says she, her eyes brightenin'. "I think I follow you, child ofthe sun. Rather a clever idea, too. Your cook, is she?"

"No such luck, " says I. "The boss's, or I wouldn't be so free with theexpense money. And listen, Madame; there's another ten in it if thespirits do their job well. "

"Grateful words, my son, " says she. "But these high-class servants arehard to handle these days. They are no longer content to see the cardslaid out and hear their past and future read. Even a simple trancesitting doesn't satisfy. They must hear bells rung, see ghostly handswaved, and some of them demand a materialized control. But they are sofew! And my faithful Al Nekkir has left me. "

"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. 

"One of the best side-kicks I ever worked with, Al Nekkir, " says MadameZenobia, sighin'. "He always slid out from behind the draperies at justthe right time, and he had the patter down fine. But how could I keep areal artist like that with a movie firm offering him five times themoney? I hear those whiskers of his screen lovely. Ah, such whiskers!Any cook, no matter how high born, would fall for a prophet's beard likethat. And where can I find another?"

Well, I couldn't say. Whiskers are scarce in New York. And it seemsMadame Zenobia wouldn't feel sure of tacklin' an A1 cook unless she hadan assistant with luxurious face lamberquins. She might try to put itover alone, but she couldn't guarantee anything. Yes, she'd keep thesnapshot of Stella, and remember what I said about the brother inAltoona. Also it might be that she could find a substitute for Al Nekkirbetween now and Thursday afternoon. But there wasn't much chance. I hadto let it ride at that. 

So Monday was crossed off, Tuesday slipped past into eternity withnothing much done, and half of Wednesday had gone the same way. Mr. Robert was gettin' anxious. He reports that Stella has set Saturday asher last day with them and that she's begun packin' her trunk. What wasI doing about it?

"If you need more time off, " says he, "take it. "

"I always need some time off, " says I, grabbin my hat. 

Anyway, it was too fine an afternoon to miss a walk up Fifth Avenue. Besides, I can often think clearer when my rubber heels are busy. Didyou ever try walkin' down an idea? It's a good hunch. The one I wastryin' to surround was how I could sub in for this Al Nekkir partymyself without gettin' Stella suspicious. If I had to say the lineswould she spot me by my voice? If she did it would be all up with thegame. 

Honest, I wasn't thinkin' of whiskers at all. In fact, I hadn'tconsidered the proposition, but was workin' on an entirely differentline, when all of a sudden, just as I'm passin' the stone lions in frontof the public library, this freak looms up out of the crowd. Course youcan see 'most anything on Fifth Avenue, if you trail up and down oftenenough--about anything or anybody you can see anywhere in the world, they say. And this sure was an odd specimen. 

He was all of six feet high and most of him was draped in a brownraincoat effect that buttoned from his ankles to his chin. Besides that, he wore a green leather cap such as I've never seen the mate to, and hehad a long, solemn face that was mostly obscured by the richest andrankest growth of bright chestnut whiskers ever in captivity. 

I expect I must have grinned. I'm apt to. Probably it was a friendlygrin. With hair as red as mine I can't be too critical. Besides, he wasgazin' sort of folksy at people as he passed. Still, I didn't think henoticed me among so many and I hadn't thought of stoppin' him. I'd goneon, wonderin' where he had blown in from, and chucklin' over that fancytinted beard, when the first thing I knew here he was at my elbowlookin' down on me. 

"Forgive, sahib, but you have the face of a kindly one, " says he. 

"Well, I'm no consistent grouch, if that's what you mean, " says I. "What'll it be?"

"Could you tell to a stranger in a strange land what one does who hasgreat hunger and no rupees left in his purse?" says he. 

"Just what you've done, " says I. "He picks out an easy mark. I don'tpass out the coin reckless, though. Generally I tow 'em to a hash houseand watch 'em eat. Are you hungry enough for that?"

"Truly, I have great hunger, " says he. 

So, five minutes later I've led him into a side street and parked himopposite me at a chop house table. "How about a slice of roast beefrare, with mashed potatoes and turnips and a cup of coffee?" says I. 

"Pardon, " says he, "but it is forbidden me to eat the flesh of animals. "

So we compromised on a double order of boiled rice and milk with a hunkof pumpkin pie on the side. And in spite of the beard he went to itbusiness-like and graceful. 

"Excuse my askin', " says I, "but are you going or coming?"

He looks a bit blank at that. "I am Burmese gentleman, " says he. "I amnamed Sarrou Mollik kuhn Balla Ben. "

"That's enough, such as it is, " says I. "Suppose I use only the last ofit, the Balla Ben part?"

"No, " says he, "that is only my title, as you say Honorable Sir. "

"Oh, very well, " says I, "Sour Milk it is. And maybe you're willin' totell how you get this way--great hunger and no rupees?"

He was willin'. It seems he'd first gone wanderin' from home a year orso back with a sporty young Englishman who'd hired him as guide andinterpreter on a trip into the middle of Burmah. Then they'd gone oninto India and the Hon. Sour Milk had qualified so well as all roundvalet that the young Englishman signed him up for a two-year jauntaround the world. His boss was some hot sport, though, I take it, andafter a big spree coming over on a Pacific steamer from Japan he'd beentaken sick with some kind of fever, typhoid probably, and was makin' amad dash for home when he had to quit in New York and be carted to somehospital. Just what hospital Sour Milk didn't know, and as the Hon. Sahib was too sick to think about payin' his board in advance his valethad been turned loose by an unsympathizing hotel manager. And here hewas. 

"That sure is a hard luck tale, " says I. "But it ought to be easy for aman of your size to land some kind of a job these days. What did youwork at back in Burmah?"

"I was one of the attendants at the Temple, " says he. 

"Huh!" says I. "That does make it complicated. I'm afraid there ain'tmuch call for temple hands in this burg. Now if you could run abutton-holin' machine, or was a paper hanger, or could handle a deliverytruck, or could make good as a floor walker in the men's furnishin'department, or had ever done any barberin'--Say! I've got it!" and Igazes fascinated at that crop of facial herbage. 

"I ask pardon?" says he, starin' puzzled. 

"They're genuine, ain't they?" I goes on. "Don't hook over the ears witha wire? The whiskers, I mean. "

He assures me they grow on him. 

"And you're game to tackle any light work with good pay?" I asks. 

"I must not cause the death of dumb animals, " says he, "or touch theirdead bodies. And I may not serve at the altars of your people. Butbeyond that----"

"You're on, then, " says I. "Come along while I stack you up againstMadame Zenobia, the Mystic Queen. "

We finds the old girl sittin' at a little table, her chin propped up inone hand and a cigarette danglin' despondent from her rouged lips. She'sa picture of gloomy days. 

"Look what I picked up on Fifth Ave. , " says I. 

And the minute she spots him and takes in the chestnut whiskers, themweary old eyes of hers lights up. "By the kind stars and the jack ofspades!" says she. "A wise one from the East! Who is he?"

"Allow me, Madame Zenobia, to present the Hon. Sour Milk, " says I. 

"Pardon, Memsahib, " he corrects. "I am Sarrou Mellik kuhn Balla Ben, from the Temple of Aj Wadda, in Burmah. I am far from home and withoutrupees. "

"Allah be praised!" says Madame Zenobia. 

"Ah!" echoes Sour Milk, in a deep boomin' voice that sounds like it camefrom the sub-cellar. "Allah il Allah!"

"Enough!" says Madame Zenobia. "The Sage of India is my favorite controland this one has the speech and bearing of him to the life. You mayleave us, child of the sun, knowing that your wish shall come true. Thatis, provided the cook person appears. "

"Oh, she'll be here, all right, " says I. "They never miss a date likethat. There'll be two of 'em, understand. The thin one will be Maggie, that I ain't got any dope on. You can stall her off with anything. Thefat, waddly one with the two gold front teeth will be Stella. She's theparty with the wilful disposition and the late case of wanderlust. You'll know her by the snapshot, and be sure and throw it into herstrong if you want to collect that other ten. "

"Trust Zenobia, " says she, wavin' me away. 

Say, I'd like to have been behind the curtains that Thursday afternoonwhen Stella Flynn squandered four dollars to get a message from thespirit world direct. I'd like to know just how it was done. Oh, she gotit, all right. And it must have been mighty convincin', for when Vee andI drives up to the Ellinses that night after dinner to see if they'dnoticed any difference in the cook, or if she'd dropped any encouragin'hints, I nearly got hugged by Mrs. Robert. 

"Oh, you wonderful young person!" says she. "You did manage it, didn'tyou?"

"Eh?" says I. 

"Stella is going to stay with us, " says Mrs. Robert. "She is unpackingher trunk! However did you do it? What is this marvelous recipe ofyours?"

"Why, " says I, "I took Madame Zenobia and added Sour Milk. "

Yes, I had more or less fun kiddin' 'em along all the evenin'. But Icouldn't tell 'em the whole story because I didn't have the detailsmyself. As for Mr. Robert, he's just as pleased as anybody, only he letson how he was dead sure all along that I'd put it over. And before Ileft he tows me one side and tucks a check into my pocket. 

"Geraldine paid up, " says he, "and I rather think the stakes belong toyou. But sometime, Torchy, I'd like to have you outline your process tome. It should be worth copyrighting. "

That bright little idea seemed to have hit Madame Zenobia, too, for whenI drops around there next day to hand her the final instalment, she andthe Hon. Sour Milk are just finishing a he-sized meal that had been sentin on a tray from a nearby restaurant. She's actin' gay and mirthful. 

"Ah, I've always known there was luck in red hair, " says she. "And whenit comes don't think Zenobia doesn't know it by sight. Look!" and shehands me a mornin' paper unfolded to the "Help Wanted" page. The markedad reads:

The domestic problem solved. If you would keep your servants consultMadame Zenobia, the Mystic Queen. Try her and your cook will neverleave. 

"Uh-huh!" says I. "That ought to bring in business these times. I expectthat inside of a week you'll have the street lined with limousines andcustomers waitin' in line all up and down the stairs here. "

"True words, " says Madame Zenobia. "Already I have made fourappointments for this afternoon and I've raised my fee to $50. "

"If you can cinch 'em all the way you did Stella, " says I, "it'll be asgood as ownin' a Texas gusher. But, by the way, just how did you feed itto her?"

"She wasn't a bit interested, " says Madame Zenobia, "until Imaterialized Sarrou Mellik as the wise man of India. Give us that patterI worked up for you, Sarrou. "

And in that boomin' voice of his the Hon. Sour Milk remarks: "Beware ofchange. Remain, woman, where thou art, for there and there only willsome great good fortune come to you. The spirit of Ahmed the Wise hathspoken. "

"Great stuff!" says I. "I don't blame Stella for changin' her mind. That's enough to make anybody a fixture anywhere. She may be the onlyone in the country, but I'll say she's a permanent cook. "

And I sure did get a chuckle out of Mr. Robert when I sketches out howwe anchored Stella to his happy home. 

"Then that's why she looks at me in that peculiarly expectant way everytime I see her, " says he. "Some great good fortune, eh? Evidently shehas decided that it will come through me. "

"Well, " says I, "unless she enters a prize beauty contest or somethinglike that, you should worry. Even if she does get the idea that you'reholdin' out on her, she won't dare quit. And you couldn't do better thanthat with an Act of Congress. Could you, now?"

At which Mr. Robert folds his hands over his vest and indulges in acat-and-canary grin. I expect he was thinkin' of them mince pies. 

CHAPTER VII

HOW THE GARVEYS BROKE IN

Course, Vee gives me all the credit. Perfectly right, too. That's theway we have 'em trained. But, as a matter of fact, stated confidentialand on the side, it was the little lady herself who pushed the starterbutton in this affair with the Garveys. If she hadn't I don't see whereit would ever have got going. 

Let's see, it must have been early in November. Anyway, it was somemessy afternoon, with a young snow flurry that had finally concluded toturn to rain, and as I drops off the 5:18 I was glad enough to see thelittle roadster backed up with the other cars and Vee waitin' insidebehind the side curtains. 

"Good work!" says I, dashin' out and preparin' to climb in. "I mighthave got good and damp paddlin' home through this. Bright little thoughtof yours. "

"Pooh!" says Vee. "Besides, there was an express package the driverforgot to deliver. It must be that new floor lamp. Bring it out, willyou, Torchy?"

And by the time I'd retrieved this bulky package from the express agentand stowed it inside, all the other commuters had boarded their variouslimousines and flivver taxis and cleared out. 

"Hello!" says I, glancin' down the platform where a large and elegantlady is pacin' up and down lonesome. "Looks like somebody has got left. "

At which Vee takes a peek. "I believe it's that Mrs. Garvey, " says she. 

"Oh!" says I, slidin' behind the wheel and thrown' in the gear. 

I was just shiftin' to second when Vee grabs my arm. "How utterlysnobbish of us!" says she. "Let's ask if we can't take her home?"

"On the runnin' board?" says I. 

"We can leave the lamp until tomorrow, " says Vee. "Come on. "

So I cuts a short circle and pulls up opposite this imposin' party inthe big hat and the ruffled mink coat. She lets on not to notice untilVee leans out and asks:

"Mrs. Garvey, isn't it?"

All the reply she gives is a stiff nod and I notice her face is pinkedup like she was peeved at something. 

"If your car isn't here can't we take you home?" asks Vee. 

She acts sort of stunned for a second, and then, after another look upthe road through the sheets of rain, she steps up hesitatin'. "I supposemy stupid chauffeur forgot I'd gone to town, " says she. "And as all thetaxis have been taken I--I---- But you haven't room. "

"Oh, lots!" says Vee. "We will leave this ridiculous package in theexpress office and squeeze up a bit. You simply can't walk, you know. "

"Well----" says she. 

So I lugs the lamp back and the three of us wedges ourselves into theroadster seat. Believe me, with a party the size of Mrs. Garvey as theparty of the third part, it was a tight fit. From the way Vee chatterson, though, you'd think it was some merry lark we was indulgin' in. 

"This is what I call our piggy car, " says she, "for we can never ask butone other person at a time. But it's heaps better than having no car atall. And it's so fortunate we happened to see you, wasn't it?"

Being more or less busy tryin' to shift gears without barkin' Mrs. Garvey's knees, and turn corners without skiddin' into the gutter, Ididn't notice for a while that Vee was conductin' a perfectly goodmonologue. That's what it was, though. Hardly a word out of our statelypassenger. She sits there as stiff as if she was crated, starin' coldand stony straight ahead, and that peevish flush still showin' on hercheekbones. Why, you'd most think we had her under arrest instead ofdoin' her a favor. And when I finally swings into the Garvey drivewayand pulls up under the porte cochere she untangles herself from thebrake lever and crawls out. 

"Thank you, " says she crisp, adjustin' her picture hat. "It isn't oftenthat I am obliged to depend on--on strangers. " And while Vee still hasher mouth open, sort of gaspin' from the slam, the lady has marched upthe steps and disappeared. 

"Now I guess you know where you get off, eh, Vee?" says I chuckly. "You_will_ pass up your new neighbors. "

"How absurd of her!" says Vee. "Why, I never dreamed that I had offendedher by not calling. "

"Well, you've got the straight dope at last, " says I. "She's as fond ofus as a cat is of swimmin' with the ducks. Say, my right arm is numbfrom being so close to that cold shoulder she was givin' me. Catch medoin' the rescue act for her again. "

"Still, " says Vee, "they have been livin out here nearly a year, haven'tthey? But then----"

At which she proceeds to state an alibi which sounds reasonable enough. She'd rather understood that the Garveys didn't expect to be called on. Maybe you know how it is in one of these near-swell suburbs! Not thatthere's any reg'lar committee to pass on newcomers. Some are taken inright off, some after a while, and some are just left out. Anyway, that's how it seems to work out here in Harbor Hills. 

I don't know who it was first passed around the word, or where we got itfrom, but we'd been tipped off somehow that the Garveys didn't belong. Idon't expect either of us asked for details. Whether or not they didwasn't up to us. But everybody seems to take it that they don't, and actaccordin'. Plenty of others had met the same deal. Some quit after thefirst six months, others stuck it out. 

As for the Garveys, they'd appeared from nowhere in particular, boughtthis big square stucco house on the Shore road, rolled around in theirshowy limousine, subscribed liberal to all the local drives and charityfunds, and made several stabs at bein' folksy. But there's no response. None of the bridge-playing set drop in of an afternoon to ask Mrs. Garvey if she won't fill in on Tuesday next, she ain't invited to jointhe Ladies' Improvement Society, or even the Garden Club; and whenGarvey's application for membership gets to the Country Club committeehe's notified that his name has been put on the waitin' list. I expectit's still there. 

But it's kind of a jolt to find that Mrs. Garvey is sore on us for allthis. "Where does she get that stuff?" I asks Vee, after we get home. "Who's been telling her we handle the social blacklist for the RoaringRock district of Long Island?"

"I suppose she thinks we have done our share, or failed to do it, " saysVee. "And perhaps we have. I'm rather sorry for the Garveys. I'm sure Idon't know what's the matter with them. "

I didn't, either. Hadn't given it a thought, in fact. But I sort of gotto chewin' it over. Maybe it was the flashy way Mrs. Garvey dressed, andthe noisy laugh I'd occasionally heard her spring on the stationplatform when she was talking to Garvey. Not that all the lady membersof the Country Club set are shrinkin' violets who go around costumed inQuaker gray and whisper their remarks modest. Some are about as spiffydressers as you'll see anywhere and a few are what I'd call speedyperformers. But somehow you know who they are and where they came from, and make allowances. They're in the swim, anyway. 

The trouble might be with Garvey. He's about the same type as the otherhalf of the sketch--a big, two-fisted ruddy-faced husk, attired sportyin black and white checks, with gray gaiters and a soft hat to match thesuit. Wore a diamond-set Shriners' watch fob, and an Elks' emblem in hisbuttonhole. Course, you wouldn't expect him to have any gentle, ladylikevoice, and he don't. I heard he'd been sent on as an eastern agent ofsome big Kansas City packin' house. Must have been a good payin' line, for he certainly looks like ready money. But somehow he don't seem to bepopular with our bunch of commuters, although at first I understand hetried to mix in free and easy. 

Anyway, the verdict appears to be against lettin' the Garveys in, and wehad about as much to do with it as we did about fixin' the price ofcoal, or endin' the sugar shortage. Yet here when we try to do one of'em a good turn we get the cold eye. 

"Next time, " says I, "we'll remember we are strangers, and not give heran openin' to throw it at us. "

So I'm a little surprised the followin' Sunday afternoon to see theGarvey limousine stoppin' out front. As I happens to be wanderin' aroundoutside I steps up to the gate just as Garvey is gettin' out. 

"Ah, Ballard!" he says, cordial. "I want to thank you and Mrs. Ballardfor picking Mrs. Garvey up the other day when our fool chauffeur went tosleep at the switch. It--it was mighty decent of you. "

"Not at all, " says I "Couldn't do much less for a neighbor, could we?"

"Some could, " says he. "A whole lot less. And if you don't mind mysaying so, it's about the first sign we've had that we were counted asneighbors. "

"Oh, well, " says I, "maybe nobody's had a chance to show it before. Willyou come in a minute and thaw out in front of the wood fire?"

"Why--er--I suppose it ain't reg'lar, " says he, "but blamed if Idon't. "

And after I've towed him into the livin' room, planted him in a wingchair, and poked up the hickory logs, he springs this conundrum on me:

"Ballard, " says he, "I'd like to ask you something and have you give mean answer straight from the shoulder. "

"That's my specialty, " says I. "Shoot. "

"Just what's the matter with us--Mrs. Garvey and me?" he demands. 

"Why--why--Who says there's anything the matter with either of you?" Iasks, draggy. 

"They don't have to say it, " says he. "They act it. Everybody in thisblessed town; that is, all except the storekeepers, the plumbers, themilkman, and so on. My money seems to be good enough for them. But asfor the others--well, you know how we've been frozen out. As though wehad something catching, or would blight the landscape. Now what's thebig idea? What are some of the charges in the indictment?"

And I'll leave it to you if that wasn't enough to get me scrapin' myfront hoof. How you goin' to break it to a gent sittin' by your ownfireside that maybe he's a bit rough in the neck, or too much of a yawpto fit into the refined and exclusive circle that patronizes the 8:03bankers' express? As I see it, the thing can't be done. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Garvey, " says I, "but if there's been any true billhanded in by a pink tea grand jury it's been done without consultin'me. I ain't much on this codfish stuff myself. "

"Shake, young man, " says he grateful. "I thought you looked like theright sort. But without gettin' right down to brass tacks, or namin' anynames, couldn't you slip me a few useful hints? There's no use denyin'we're in wrong here. I don't suppose it matters much just how; not now, anyway. But Tim Garvey is no quitter; at least, I've never had thatname. And I've made up my mind to stay with this proposition until I'mdead sure I'm licked. "

"That's the sportin' spirit, " says I. 

"What I want is a line on how to get in right, " says he. 

At which I scratches my head and stalls around. 

"For instance, " he goes on, "what is it these fine Harbor Hills folks dothat I can't learn? Is it parlor etiquette? Then me for that. I'll takelessons. I'm willin' to be as refined and genteel as anybody if that'swhat I lack. "

"That's fair enough, " says I, still stallin'. 

"You see, " says Garvey, "this kind of a deal is a new one on us. I don'twant to throw any bull, but out in Kansas City we thought we had just asgood a bunch as you could find anywhere; and we were the ringleaders, asyou might say. Mixed with the best people. All live wires, too. We had anew country club that would make this one of yours look like a freightshed. I helped organize it, was one of the directors. And the Madam tookher part, too; first vice-president of the Woman's Club, charter memberof the Holy Twelve bridge crowd, as some called it, and always apatroness at the big social affairs. A new doormat wouldn't, last us alifetime out there. But here--say, how do you break into this bunch, anyway?"

"Why ask me, who was smuggled in the back door?" says I, grinnin'. 

"But you know a lot of these high-brows and aristocrats, " he insists. "Idon't. I don't get 'em at all. What brainy stunts or polite acts arethey strongest for? How do they behave when they're among themselves?"

"Why, sort of natural, I guess, " says I. 

"Whaddye mean, natural?" demands Garvey. "For instance?"

"Well, let's see, " says I. "There's Major Brooks Keating, the imposin'old boy with the gray goatee, who was minister to Greece or Turkey once. Married some plute's widow abroad and retired from the diplomatic game. Lives in that near-chateau affair just this side of the Country Club. His fad is paintin'. "

"Pictures?" asks Garvey. 

"No. Cow barns, fences, chicken houses, " says I. "Anything around theplace that will stand another coat. "

"You don't mean he does it himself?" says Garvey. 

"Sure he does, " says I. "Gets on an old pair of overalls and jumper andgoes to it like he belonged to the union. Last time I was up there hehad all the blinds off one side of the house and was touchin' 'em up. Mrs. Keating was givin' a tea that afternoon and he crashes right inamongst 'em askin' his wife what she did with that can of turpentine. Nobody seems to mind, and they say he has a whale of a time doin' it. Sothat's his high-brow stunt. "

Garvey shakes his head puzzled. "House painting, eh?" says he. "Somefad, I'll say. "

"He ain't got anything on J. Kearney Rockwell, the potty-built old sportwith the pink complexion and the grand duchess wife, " I goes on. "Youknow?"

Garvey nods. "Of Rockwell, Griggs & Bland, the big brokerage house, "says he. "What's his pet side line?"

"Cucumbers, " says I. "Has a whole hothouse full of 'em. Don't allow thegardener to step inside the door, but does it all himself. Even lugs 'emdown to the store in a suitcase and sells as high as $20 worth a week, they say. I hear he did start peddlin' 'em around the neighborhood once, but the grand duchess raised such a howl he had to quit. You're liableto see him wheelin' in a barrowful of manure any time, though. "

"Ought to be some sight, " says Garvey. "Cucumbers! Any more like him?"

"Oh, each one seems to have his own specialty, " says I. "Take AustinGordon, one of the Standard Oil crowd, who only shows up at 26 Broadwayfor the annual meetings now. You'd never guess what his hobby is. Puppetshows. "

"Eh?" says Garvey, gawpin'. 

"Sort of Punch and Judy stuff, " says I. "Whittles little dummies out ofwood, paints their faces, dresses 'em up, and makes 'em act by pullin' alot of strings. Writes reg'lar plays for 'em. He's got a complete littletheatre fitted up over his garage; stage, scenery, footlights, foldingchairs and everything. Gives a show every now and then. Swell affairs. Everybody turns out. Course they snicker some in private, but he getsaway with it. "

Garvey stares at me sort of dazed. "And here I've been afraid to doanything but walk around my place wearing gloves and carrying a cane;"says he. "Afraid of doing something that wasn't genteel, or that wouldget the neighbors talking. While these aristocrats do what they please. They do, don't they!"

"That about states it, " says I. 

"Do--do you suppose I could do that, too?" he asks. 

"Why not?" says I. "You don't stand to lose anything, do you, even ifthey do chatter? If I was you I'd act natural and tell 'em to go hang. "

"You would?" says he, still starin'. 

"To the limit, " says I. "What's the fun of livin' if you can't?"

"Say, young man, " says Garvey, slappin' his knee. "That listenssensible to me. Blamed if I don't. And I--I'm much obliged. "

And after he's gone Vee comes down from upstairs and wants to know whaton earth I've been talking so long to that Mr. Garvey about. 

"Why, " says I, "I've been givin' him some wise dope on how to live amongplutes and be happy. "

"Silly!" says Vee, rumplin' my red hair. "Do you know what I've made upmy mind to do some day this week? Have you take me for an evening callon the Garveys. "

"Gosh!" says I. "You're some little Polar explorer, ain't you?"

It was no idle threat of Vee's. A few nights later we got under wayright after dinner and drove over there. I expect we were about thefirst outsiders to push the bell button since they moved in. But we'd nosooner rung than Vee begins to hedge. 

"Why, they must be giving a party!" says she. "Listen! There's anorchestra playing. "

"Uh-huh!" says I. "Sounds like a jazz band. "

A minute later, though, when the butler opens the door, there's no soundof music, and as we goes in we catches Garvey just strugglin' into hisdinner coat. He seems glad to see us, mighty glad. Says so. Tows usright into the big drawin' room. But Mrs. Garvey ain't so enthusiastic. She warms up about as much as a cold storage turkey. 

You can't feaze Vee, though, when she starts in to be folksy. "I'm justso sorry we've been so long getting over, " says she. "And we came nearnot coming in this time. Didn't we hear music a moment ago. You're nothaving a dance or--or anything, are you?"

The Garveys look at each other sort of foolish for a second. 

"Oh, no, " says Mrs. Garvey. "Nothing of the sort. Perhaps some of theservants----"

"Now, Ducky, " breaks in Garvey, "let's not lay it on the servants. "

And Mrs. Garvey turns the color of a fire hydrant clear up into herpermanent wave. "Very well, Tim, " says she. "If you _will_ let everybodyknow. I suppose it's bound to get out sooner or later, anyhow. " And withthat she turns to me. "Anyway, you're the young man who put him up tothis nonsense. I hope you're satisfied. "

"Me?" says I, doin' the gawp act. 

"How delightfully mysterious!" says Vee. "What's it all about?"

"Yes, Garvey, " says I. "What you been up to?"

"I'm being natural, that's all, " says he. 

"Natural!" snorts Mrs. Garvey. "Is that what you call it?"

"How does it break out?" says I. 

"If you must know, " says Mrs. Garvey, "he's making a fool of himself byplaying a snare drum. "

"Honest?" says I, grinnin' at Garvey. 

"Here it is, " says he, draggin' out from under a davenport a perfectlygood drum. 

"And you might as well exhibit the rest of the ridiculous things, " saysMrs. Garvey. 

"Sure!" says Garvey, swingin' back a Japanese screen and disclosin' afull trap outfit--base drum with cymbals, worked by a foot pedal, xylophone blocks, triangle, and sand boards--all rigged up next to acabinet music machine. 

"Well, well!" says I. "All you lack is a leader and Sophie Tucker toscreech and you could go on at Reisenwebers. "

"Isn't it all perfectly fascinating?" says Vee, testin' the drum pedal. 

"But it's such a common, ordinary thing to do, " protests Mrs. Garvey. "Drumming! Why, out in Kansas City I remember that the man who playedthe traps in our Country Club orchestra worked daytimes as a plumber. Hewas a poor plumber, at that. "

"But he was a swell drummer, " says Garvey. "I took lessons of him, onthe sly. You see, as a boy, the one big ambition in my life was to playthe snare drum. But I never had money enough to buy one. I couldn't havefound time to play it anyway. And in Kansas City I was too busy tryingto be a good sport. Here I've got more time than I know what to do with. More money, too. So I've got the drum, and the rest. I'm here to say, too, that knocking out an accompaniment to some of these new jazzrecords is more fun than I've ever had all the rest of my life. "

"I'm sure it must be, " says Vee. "Do play once for us, Mr. Garvey. Couldn't I come in on the piano? Let's try that 'Dardanella' thing?"

And say, inside of ten minutes they were at it so hard that you'd mostthought Arthur Pryor and his whole aggregation had cut loose. Then theydid some one-step pieces with lots of pep in 'em, and the way Garveycould roll the sticks, and tinkle the triangle, and keep the cymbals andbase drum goin' with his foot was as good to watch as a jugglin' act, even if he does leak a lot on the face when he gets through. 

"You're some jazz artist, I'll say, " says I. 

"So will the neighbors, I'm afraid, " says Mrs. Garvey. "That will soundnice, won't it?"

"Oh, blow the neighbors!" says Garvey. "I'm going to do as I please fromnow on; and it pleases me to do this. "

"Then we might as well nail up the front door and eat in the kitchen, like we used to, " says she, sighin'. 

But it don't work out that way for them. It was like this: Austin Gordonwas pullin' off one of his puppet shows and comes around to ask Veewouldn't she do some piano playin' for him between the acts and durin'parts of the performance. He'd hoped to have a violinist, too, but theparty had backed out. So Vee tells him about Garvey's trap outfit, andhow clever he is at it, and suggests askin' him in. 

"Why, certainly!" says Gordon. 

So Garvey pulls his act before the flower and chivalry of Harbor Hills. They went wild over it, too. And at the reception afterwards he wasintroduced all round, patted on the back by the men, and taffied up bythe ladies. Even Mrs. Timothy Garvey, who'd been sittin' stiff andpurple-faced all the evenin' in a back seat was rung in for a little ofthe glory. 

"Say, Garvey, " says Major Brooks Keating, "we must have you and Mrs. Ballard play for us at our next Country Club dinner dance after the foolmusicians quit. Will you, eh? Not a member? Well, you ought to be. I'llsee that you're made one, right away. "

I don't know of anyone who was more pleased at the way things had turnedout than Vee. "There, Torchy!" says she. "I've always said you were awonder at managing things. "

"Why shouldn't I be?" says I, givin' her the side clinch. "Look at theswell assistant I've got. "

CHAPTER VIII

NICKY AND THE SETTING HEN

Honest, the first line I got on this party with the steady gray eyes andthe poker face was that he must be dead from the neck up. Or else he'dgone into a trance and couldn't get out. 

Nice lookin' young chap, too. Oh, say thirty or better. I don't know ashe'd qualify as a perfect male, but he has good lines and the kind ofprofile that had most of the lady typists stretchin' their necks. Butthere's no more expression on that map of his than there would be to abar of soap. Just a blank. And yet after a second glance you wondered. 

You see, I'd happened to drift out into the general offices in time tohear him ask Vincent, the fair-haired guardian of the brass gate, if Mr. Robert is in. And when Vincent tells him he ain't he makes no move togo, but stands there starin' straight through the wall out intoBroadway. Looks like he might be one of Mr. Robert's club friends, so Isteps up and asks if there's anything a perfectly good private sec. Cando for him. He wakes up enough to shake his head. 

"Any message?" says I. 

Another shake. "Then maybe you'll leave your card?" says I. 

Yes, he's willin' to do that, and hands it over. 

"Oh!" says I. "Why didn't you say so? Mr. Nickerson Wells, eh? Why, you're the one who's going to handle that ore transportation deal forthe Corrugated, ain't you?"

"I was, but I'm not, " says the chatterbox. 

"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. 

"Can't take it on, " says he. "Tell Ellins, will you?"

"Not much!" says I. "Guess you'll have to hand that to him yourself, Mr. Wells. He'll be here any minute. Right this way. "

And a swell time I had keepin' him entertained in the private office forhalf an hour. Not that he's restless or fidgety, but when you get aparty who only stares bored at a spot about ten feet behind the back ofyour head and answers most of your questions by blinkin' his eyes, itkind of gets on your nerves. Still, I couldn't let him get away. Why, Mr. Robert had been prospectin' for months to find the right man forthat transportation muddle and when he finally got hold of this NickyWells he goes around grinnin' for three days. 

Seems Nicky had built up quite a rep. By some work he did over in Franceon an engineerin' job. Ran some supply tracks where nobody thought theycould be laid, bridged a river in a night under fire, and pulled a lotof stuff like that. I don't know just what. Anyway, they pinned allsorts of medals on him for it, made him a colonel, and when it was allover turned him loose as casual as any buck private. That's the army foryou. And the railroad people he'd been with before had been shiftedaround so much that they'd forgotten all about him. He wasn't the kindto tell 'em what a whale of a guy he was, and nobody else did it forhim. So there he was, floatin' around, when Mr. Robert happened to hearof him. 

"Must have got you in some lively spots, runnin' a right of way smack upto the German lines?" I suggests. 

"M-m-m-m!" says he, through his teeth. 

"Wasn't it you laid the tracks that got up them big naval guns?" I asks. 

"I may have helped, " says he. 

So I knew all about it, you see. Quite thrillin' if you had a high speedimagination. And you can bet I was some relieved when Mr. Robert blew inand took him off my hands. Must have been an hour later before he comesout and I goes into the private office to find Mr. Robert with his chinon his wishbone and his brow furrowed up. 

"Well, I take it the one-syllable champion broke the sad news to you!"says I. 

"Yes, he wants to quit, " says Mr. Robert. 

"Means to devote all his time to breakin' the long distance no-speechrecord, does he?" I asks. 

"I'm sure I don't know what he means to do, " says Mr. Robert, sighin'. "Anyway, he seems determined not to go to work for the Corrugated. I diddiscover one thing, though, Torchy; there's a girl mixed up in theaffair. She's thrown him over. "

"I don't wonder, " says I. "Probably he tried to get through a wholeevenin' with her on that yes-and-no stuff. "

No, Mr. Robert says, it wasn't that. Not altogether. Nicky has donesomething that he's ashamed of, something she'd heard about. He'drenigged on takin' her to a dinner dance up in Boston a month or soback. He'd been on hand all right, was right on the spot while she waswaitin' for him; but instead of callin' around with the taxi and theorchids he'd slipped off to another town without sayin' a word. Theworst of it was that in this other place was the other woman, someonehe'd had an affair with before. A Reno widow, too. 

"Think of that!" says I, "Nicky the Silent! Say, you can't always tell, can you? What's his alibi?"

"That's the puzzling part of it, " says Mr. Robert. "He hasn't the ghostof an excuse, although he claims he didn't see the other woman, hadalmost forgotten she lived there. But why he deserted his dinner partnerand went to this place he doesn't explain, except to say that he doesn'tknow why he did it. "

"Too fishy, " says I. "Unless he can prove he was walkin' in his sleep. "

"Just what I tell him, " says Mr. Robert. "Anyway, he's taking it hard. Says if he's no more responsible than that he couldn't undertake animportant piece of work. Besides, I believe he is very fond of the girl. She's Betty Burke, by the way. "

"Z-z-zing!" says I. "Some combination, Miss Betty Burke and NickersonWells. "

I'd seen her a few times at the Ellinses, and take it from me she's somewild gazelle; you know, lots of curves and speed, but no control. Nomatter where you put her she's the life of the party, Betty is. Chatter!Say, she could make an afternoon tea at the Old Ladies' Home sound likea Rotary Club luncheon, all by herself. Shoots over the clever stuff, too. Oh, a reg'lar girl. About as much on Nicky Wells' type as a hummin'bird is like a pelican. 

"Only another instance, " says Mr. Robert, "to show that the law ofopposites is still in good working condition. I've never known Betty tobe as much cut up over anything as she's been since she found out aboutNicky. Only we couldn't imagine what was the matter. She's not used tobeing forgotten and I suppose she lost no time in telling Nicky where hegot off. She must have cared a lot for him. Perhaps she still does. Thesilly things! If they could only make it up perhaps Nicky would signthat contract and go to work. "

"Looks like a case of Cupid throwin' a monkey wrench into the gears ofcommerce, eh?" says I. "How do you size up Nicky's plea of not guilty?"

"Oh, if he says he didn't see the other woman, he didn't, that's all, "says Mr. Robert. "But until he explains why he went where she waswhen----"

"Maybe he would if he had a show, " says I. "If you could plot out aget-together session for 'em somehow----"

"Exactly!" says Mr. Robert, slappin' his knee. "Thank you, Torchy. Itshall be done. Get Mrs. Ellins on the long distance, will you?"

He's a quick performer, Mr. Robert, when he's got his program mappedout. He don't hesitate to step on the pedal. Before quittin' time thatafternoon he's got it all fixed up. 

"Tomorrow night, " says he, "Nicky understands that we're having a dinnerparty out at the house. Betty'll be there. You and Vee are to be theparty. "

"A lot of help I'll be, " says I. "But I expect I can fill a chair. "

When you get a private sec. That can double in open face clothes, though, you've picked a winner. That's why I figure so heavy on theCorrugated pay roll. But say, when I finds myself planted next toBubbling Betty at the table I begins to suspect that I've been miscastfor the part. 

She's some smart dresser, on and off, Betty is. Her idea of a perfectlygood dinner gown is to make it as simple as possible. All she needs is aquart or so of glass beads and a little pink tulle and there she is. There's more or less of her, too. And me thinkin' that Theda Bara stoodfor the last word in bare. I hadn't seen Betty costumed for the dinin'room then. And I expect the blush roses in the flower bowl had nothingon my ears when it came to a vivid color scheme. 

By that time, of course, she and Nicky had recovered from the shock offindin' themselves with their feet under the same table and they'vesettled down to bein' insultin'ly polite to each other. It's "Mr. Wells"and "Miss Burke" with them, Nicky with his eyes in his plate and Bettythrowin' him frigid glances that should have chilled his soup. And thenext thing I know she's turned to me and is cuttin' loose with her wholebag of tricks. Talk about bein' vamped! Say, inside of three minutesthere she had me dizzy in the head. With them sparklin', roly-boly eyesof hers so near I didn't know whether I was butterin' a roll orspreadin' it on my thumb. 

"Do you know, " says she, "I simply adore red hair--your kind. "

"Maybe that's why I picked out this particular shade, " says I. 

"Tchk!" says she, tappin' me on the arm. "Tell me, how do you get it towave so cunningly in front?"

"Don't give it away, " says I, "but I do demonstratin' at a male beautyparlor. "

This seems to tickle Betty so much that she has to lean over and chuckleon my shoulder. "Bob calls you Torchy, doesn't he?" she goes on. "I'mgoing to, too. "

"Well, I don't see how I can stop you, " says I. 

"What do you think of this new near-beer?" she demands. 

"Why, " says I, "it strikes me the bird who named it was a poor judge ofdistance. " Which, almost causes Betty to swallow an olive pit. 

"You're simply delightful!" says she. "Why haven't we met before?"

"Maybe they didn't think it was safe, " says I. "They might be right, atthat. "

"Naughty, naughty!" says she. "But go on. Tell me a funny story whilethe fish is being served. "

"I'd do better servin' the fish, " says I. 

"Pooh!" says she. "I don't believe it. Come!"

"How do you know I'm primed?" says I. 

"I can tell by your eyes, " says she. "There's a twinkle in them. "

"S-s-s-sh!" says I. "Belladonna. Besides, I always forget the good onesI read in the comic section. "

"Please!" insists Betty. "Every one else is being so stupid. And you'resupposed to entertain me, you know. "

"Well, " says I, "I did hear kind of a rich one while I was waitin' atthe club for Mr. Robert today only I don't know as----"

"Listen, everybody, " announces Betty vivacious. "Torchy is going to tella story. "

Course, that gets me pinked up like the candle shades and I shakes myhead vigorous. 

"Hear, hear!" says Mr. Robert. 

"Oh, do!" adds Mrs. Ellins. 

As for Vee, she looks across at me doubtful. "I hope it isn't that oneabout a Mr. Cohen who played poker all night, " says she. 

"Wrong guess, " says I. "It's one I overheard at Mr. Robert's club whilea bunch of young sports was comparin' notes on settin' hens. "

"How do you mean, setting hens?" asks Mr. Robert. 

"It's the favorite indoor sport up in New England now, I understand, "says I. "It's the pie-belt way of taking the sting out of theprohibition amendment. You know, building something with a kick to it. Ididn't get the details, but they use corn-meal, sugar, water, raisinsand the good old yeast cake, and let it set in a cask! for twenty-onedays. Nearly everybody up there has a hen on, I judge, or one justcoming off. "

"Oh, I see!" says Mr. Robert. "And had any of the young men succeeded;that is, in producing something with--er--a kick to it?"

"Accordin' to their tale, they had, " says I. "Seems they tried it outin Boston after the Harvard-Yale game. A bunch got together in somehotel room and opened a jug one of 'em had brought along in case Harvardshould win, and after that 10-3 score--well, I expect they'd havecelebrated on something, even if it was no more than lemon extract orJamaica ginger. "

"How about that, Nicky?" asks Mr. Robert, who's a Yale man. 

"Quite possible, " says Nicky, who for the first time seems to have hisears pricked up. "What then?"

"Well, " says I, "there was one Harvard guy who wasn't much used tohitting anything of the sort, but he was so much cheered up over seeinghis team win that he let 'em lead him to it. They say he shut his eyesand let four fingers in a water glass trickle down without stopping totaste it. From then on he was a different man. He forgot all about beinga Delta Kappa, whatever that is; forgot that he had an aunt who stilllived on Beacon Street; forgot most everything except that the birdswere singin' 'Johnny Harvard' and that Casey was a great man. He climbedon a table and insisted on makin' a speech about it. You know how thathome brew stuff works sometimes?"

"I've been told that it has a certain potency, " says Mr. Robert, winkin'at Nicky. 

"Anyway, " I goes on, seein' that Nicky was still interested, "it seemsto tie his tongue loose. He gets eloquent about the poor old Elis whohad to stand around and watch the snake dance without lettin' out a yip. Then he has a bright idea, which he proceeds to state. Maybe they don'tknow anything about the glorious product of the settin' hen down in NewHaven. And who needs it more at such a time as this? Ought to have someof 'em up there and lighten their load of gloom. Act of charity. Gottabe done. If nobody else'll do it, he will. Go out into highways andbyways. 

"And he does. Half an hour later he shows up at the home brewheadquarters with an Eli that he's captured on the way to the Southstation. He's a solemn-faced, dignified party who don't seem to catchwhat it's all about and rather balks when he sees the bunch. But he'sdragged in and introduced as Chester Beal, the Hittite. "

"I beg pardon?" asks Nicky. 

"I'm only giving you what I heard, " says I. "Chester Beal might havebeen his right name, or it might not, and the Hittite part was some ofhis josh, I take it. Anyway, Chester was dealt a generous shot from thejug, followin' which he was one of 'em. Him and the Harvard guy got realchummy, and the oftener they sampled the home brew the more they thoughtof each other. They discovered they'd both served in the same divisionon the other side and had spent last Thanksgiving only a few miles fromeach other. It was real touchin'. When last seen they was driftin' upTremont Street arm in arm singin' 'Madelon, ' 'Boola-Boola, ''Harvardiana' and other appropriate melodies. "

"Just like the good old days, eh, Nicky?" suggests Mr. Robert. 

But Nicky only shakes his head. "You say they were not seen again?" hedemands. 

"Not until about 1:30 a. M. , " says I, "when they shows up in front ofthe Harvard Club on Commonwealth Avenue. One of the original bunch spotsthe pair and listens in. The Harvard man is as eloquent as ever. He'sstill going strong. But Chester, the Hittite, looks bored and weary. 'Oh, shut up!' says he. But the other one can't be choked off that way. He just starts in again. So Chester leads him out to the curb and hailsa taxi driver. 'Take him away, ' says Chester. 'He's been talking to mefor hours and hours. Take him away. ' 'Yes, sir, 'says the driver. 'Whereto, sir, ' 'Oh, anywhere, ' says Chester. 'Take him to--to Worcester. ''Right, ' says the driver, loadin' in his fare. "

"But--but of course he didn't really take him all that distance?" putsin Betty. 

"Uh-huh!" says I. "That's what I thought was so rich. And about 10:30next mornin' a certain party wakes up in a strange room in a strangetown. He's got a head on him like an observation balloon and a tonguethat feels like a pussycat's back. And when he finally gets down to thedesk he asks the clerk where he is. 'Bancroft House, Worcester, sir, 'says the clerk. 'How odd!' says he. 'But--er--? what is this charge of$16. 85 on my bill?' 'Taxi fare from Boston, ' says the clerk. And theysay he paid up like a good sport. "

"In such a case, " says Mr. Robert "one does. "

"Worcester!" says Betty. "That's queer. "

"The rough part of it was, " I goes on, "that he was due to attend a bigaffair in Boston the night before, sort of a reunion of officers who'dbeen in the army of occupation--banquet and dance afterward--I thinkthey call it the Society of the Rhine. "

"What!" exclaims Betty. 

"Oh, I say!" gasps Nicky. Then they look at each other queer. 

I could see that I'd made some kind of a break but I couldn't figure outjust what it was. "Anyway, " says I, "he didn't get there. He got toWorcester instead. Course, though, you don't have to believe all youhear at a club. "

"If only one could, " says Betty. 

And it wasn't until after dinner that I got a slant on this remark ofhers. 

"Torchy, " says she, "where is Mr. Wells?"

"Why, " says I, "I saw him drift out on the terrace a minute ago. "

"Alone?" says she. 

I nods. 

"Then take me out to him, will you?" she asks. 

"Sure thing, " says I. 

And she puts it up to him straight when we get him cornered. "Was thatthe real reason why you were in Worcester?" she demands. 

"I'm sorry, " says he, hangin' his head, "but it must have been. "

"Then, why didn't you say so, you silly boy!" she asks. 

"How could I, Betty?" says he. "You see, I hadn't heard the rest of thestory until just now. "

"Oh, Nicky!" says she. 

And the next thing I knew they'd gone to a clinch, which I takes as mycue to slide back into the house. Half an hour later they shows upsmilin' and tells us all about it. 

As we're leavin' for home Mr. Robert gets me one side and pats me on theback. "I say, Torchy, " says he, "as a raconteur you're a great success. It worked. Nicky will sign up tomorrow. "

"Good!" says I. "Only send him where they ain't got the settin' henhabit and the taxi drivers ain't so willin' to take a chance. "

CHAPTER IX

BRINK DOES A SIDESLIP

Mostly it was a case of Old Hickory runnin' wild on the main track andBrink Hollis being in the way. What we really ought to have in theCorrugated general offices is one of these 'quake detectors, same asthey have in Washington to register distant volcano antics, so all handscould tell by a glance at the dial what was coming and prepare to standby for rough weather. 

For you never can tell just when old Hickory Ellins is going to cutloose. Course, being on the inside, with my desk right next to the doorof the private office, I can generally forecast an eruption an hour orso before it takes place. But it's apt to catch the rest of the forcewith their hands down and their mouths open. 

Why, just by the way the old boy pads in at 9:15, plantin' his hoofsheavy and glarin' straight ahead from under them bushy eye dormers ofhis, I could guess that someone was goin' to get a call on the carpetbefore very long. And sure enough he'd hardly got settled in his bigleather swing chair before he starts barkin' for Mr. Piddie. 

I expect when it comes to keepin' track of the overhead, and gettin' afull day's work out of a bunch of lady typists, and knowin' where to buyhis supplies at cut-rates, Piddie is as good an office manager as you'llfind anywhere along Broadway from the Woolworth tower to the Circle; butwhen it comes to soothin' down a 65-year-old boss who's been awake mostof the night with sciatica, he's a flivver. He goes in with his browwrinkled up and his knees shakin', and a few minutes later he comes outpale in the gills and with a wild look in his eyes. 

"What's the scandal, Piddie?" says I. "Been sent to summon the firin'squad, or what?"

He don't stop to explain then, but pikes right on into the bond room andholds a half-hour session with that collection of giddy youngnear-sports who hold down the high stools. Finally, though, he tip-toesback to me, wipes the worry drops from his forehead, and gives me someof the awful details. 

"Such incompetency!" says he husky. "You remember that yesterday Mr. Ellins called for a special report on outside holdings? And when it issubmitted it is merely a jumble of figures. Why, the young man whoprepared it couldn't have known the difference between a debenture 5 anda refunding 6!"

"Don't make me shudder, Piddie, " says I. "Who was the brainless wretch?"

"Young Hollis, of course, " whispers Piddie. "And it's not the firstoccasion, Torchy, on which he has been found failing. I am sending someof his books in for inspection. "

"Oh, well, " says I, "better Brink than some of the others. He won't takeit serious. He's like a duck in a shower--sheds it easy. "

At which Piddie goes off shakin' his head ominous. But then, Piddie hasbeen waitin' for the word to fire Brink Hollis ever since this cheerfuleyed young hick was wished on the Corrugated through a director's pullnearly a year ago, when he was fresh from college. You see, Piddie can'tunderstand how anybody can draw down the princely salary of twenty-fivea week without puttin' his whole soul into his work, or be able to lookhis boss in the face if there's any part of the business that he's vagueabout. 

As for Brink, his idea of the game is to get through an eight-hour daysomehow or other so he can have the other sixteen to enjoy himself in, and I expect he takes about as much interest in what he has to do as ifhe was countin' pennies in a mint. Besides that he's sort of ahappy-go-lucky, rattle-brained youth who has been chucked into this highfinance thing because his fam'ly thought he ought to be doing somethingthat looks respectable; you know the type?

Nice, pleasant young chap. Keeps the bond room force chirked up on rainydays and always has a smile for everybody. It was him organized theCorrugated Baseball Nine that cleaned up with every other team in thebuilding last summer. They say he was a star first baseman at Yale orPrinceton or wherever it was he was turned loose from. Also he's somepool shark, I understand, and is runnin' off a progressive tournamentthat he got Mr. Robert to put up some cups for. 

So I'm kind of sorry, when I answers the private office buzzer a littlelater, and finds Old Hickory purple in the face and starin' at somethinghe's discovered between the pages of Brink's bond book. 

"Young man, " says he as he hands it over, "perhaps you can fell mesomething about this?"

"Looks lite a program, " says I, glancin' it over casual. "Oh, yes. Forthe first annual dinner of the Corrugated Crabs. That was last Saturdaynight. "

"And who, may I ask, " goes on Old Hickory, "are the Corrugated Crabs?"

"Why, " says I, "I expect they're some of the young sports on the generaloffice staff. "

"Huh!" he grunts. "Why Crabs?"

I hunches my shoulders and lets it go at that. 

"I notice, " says Old Hickory, taking back the sheet, "that one featureof the entertainment was an impersonation by Mr. Brinkerhoff Hollis, of'the Old He-Crab Himself unloading a morning grouch'. Now, just whatdoes that mean?"

"Couldn't say exactly, " says I. "I wasn't there. "

"Oh, you were not, eh?" says he. "Didn't suppose you were. But youunderstand, Torchy, I am asking this information of you as my privatesecretary. I--er--it will be treated as confidential. "

"Sorry, Mr. Ellins, " says I, "but you know about as much of it as I do. "

"Which is quite enough, " says he, "for me to decide that the Corrugatedcan dispense with the services of this Hollis person at once. You willnotify Mr. Piddie to that effect. "

"Ye-e-es, sir, " says I, sort of draggy. 

He glances up at me quick. "You're not enthusiastic about it, eh?" sayshe. 

"No, " says I. 

"Then for your satisfaction, and somewhat for my own, " he goes on, "wewill review the case against this young man. He was one of three who wona D minus rating in the report made by that efficiency expert called inby Mr. Piddie last fall. "

"Yes, I know, " says I. "That squint-eyed bird who sprung his brain testson the force and let on he could card index the way your gray matterworked by askin' a lot of nutty questions. I remember. Brink Hollis wasguyin' him all the while and he never caught on. Had the whole bunchchucklin'over it. One of Piddie's fads, he was. "

Old Hickory waves one hand impatient. "Perhaps, " says he. "I don't meanto say I value that book psychology rigamarole very highly myself. Costus five hundred, too. But I've had an eye on that young man's work eversince, and it hasn't been brilliant. This bond summary is a sample. It'sa mess. "

"I don't doubt it!" says I. "But if I'd been Piddie I think I'd havehung the assignment for that on some other hook than Hollis's. He didn'tknow what a bond looked like until a year ago and that piece of workcalled for an old hand. "

"Possibly, possibly, " agrees Old Hickory. "It seems he is clever enoughat this sort of thing, however, " and he waves the program. 

I couldn't help smotherin' a chuckle. 

"Am I to infer, " says Mr. Ellins, "that this He-Crab act of his washumorous?"

"That's what they tell me, " says I. "You see, right after dinner Brinkwas missin' and everybody was wonderin' what had become of him, when allof a sudden he bobs up through a tin-foil lake in the middle of thetable and proceeds to do this crab impersonation in costume. They say itwas a scream. "

"It was, eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "And the Old He-Crab referred to--whowas that?"

"Who do you guess, Mr. Ellins?" says I, grinnin'. 

"H-m-m-m, " says he, rubbin' his chin. "I can't say I'm flattered. ThinksI'm an old crab, does he?"

"I expect he does, " I admits. 

"Do you?" demands Old Hickory, whirlin' on me sudden. 

"I used to, " says I, "until I got to know you better. "

"Oh!" says he. "Well, I suppose the young man has a right to his ownopinion. And my estimate of him makes us even. But perhaps you don'tknow with what utter contempt I regard such a worthless----"

"I got a general idea, " says I. "And maybe that's because you don't knowhim very well. "

For a second the old boy stares at me like he was goin' to blow agasket. But he don't. "I will admit, " says he, "that I may have failedto cultivate a close acquaintance with all the harum-scarum cut-ups inmy employ. One doesn't always find the time. May I ask what course youwould recommend?"

"Sure!" says I. "If it was me I wouldn't give him the chuck without ahearin'. "

That sets him chewin' his cigar. "Very well, " says he. "Bring him in. "

I hadn't figured on gettin' so close to the affair as this, but as I hadI couldn't do anything else but see it through. I finds Brink drummin' ajazz tune on his desk with his fingers and otherwise makin' the best ofit. 

"Well, " says he, as I taps him on the shoulder, "is it all over?"

"Not yet, " says I. "But the big boss is about to give you the thirddegree. So buck up. "

"Wants to see me squirm, does he?" says Brink. "All right. But I don'tsee the use. What'll I feed him, Torchy?"

"Straight talk, nothing else, " says I. "Come along. "

And I expect when Brink Hollis found himself lined up in front of themchilled steel eyes he decided that this was a cold and cruel world. 

"Let's see, " opens Old Hickory, "you've been with us about a year, haven't you?"

Hollis nods. 

"And how do you think you are getting on as a business man?" asks Mr. Ellins. 

"Fairly rotten, thank you, " says he. 

"I must say that I agree with you, " says Old Hickory. "How did youhappen to honor us by making your start here?"

"Because the governor didn't want me in his office, " says Hollis, "andcould get me into the Corrugated. "

"Hah!" snorts Old Hickory. "Think we're running a retreat for youngersons, do you!"

"If I started in with that idea, " says Brink, "I'm rapidly getting overit. And if you want to know, Mr. Ellins, I'm just as sick of working inthe bond room as you are of having me there. "

"Then why in the name of the seven sins do you stick?" demands OldHickory. 

Brink shrugs his shoulders. "Dad thinks it's best for me, " says he. "Heimagines I'm making good. I suppose I've rather helped along the notion, and he's due to get some jolt when he finds I've nose-dived to a crash. "

"Unfortunately, " says Old Hickory, "we cannot provide shock absorbersfor fond fathers. Any other reasons why you wished to remain on our payroll?"

"One, " says Brink, "but it will interest you less than the first. If Igot a raise next month I was planning to be married. "

Old Hickory sniffs. "That's optimism for you!" says he. "You expect usto put a premium on the sort of work you've been doing? Bah!"

"Oh, why drag out the agony?" says Brink. "I knew I'd put a crimp in mycareer when I remembered leaving that crab banquet program in the book. Let's get to that. "

"As you like, " says Old Hickory. "Not that I attach any great importanceto such monkey shines, but we might as well take it up. So you think I'man old crab, do you?"

"I had gathered that impression, " says Brink. "Seemed to be rathergeneral around the shop. "

Old Hickory indulges in one of them grins that are just as humorous as acrack in the pavement. "I've no doubt, " says he. "And you conceived thehappy idea of dramatizing me as the leading comic feature for thisdinner party of my employees? It was a success, I trust. "

"Appeared to take fairly well, " says Brink. 

"Pardon me if I seem curious, " goes on Old Hickory, "but just how didyou--er--create the illusion?"

"Oh, I padded myself out in front, " says Brink, "and stuck on a lot ofcotton for eyebrows, and used the make-up box liberal, and gave themsome red-hot patter on the line that--well, you know how you work off agrouch, sir. I may have caught some of your pet phrases. Anyway, theyseemed to know who I meant. "

"You're rather clever at that sort of thing, are you?" asks Old Hickory. 

"Oh, that's no test, " says Brink. "You can always get a hand with localgags. And then, I did quite a lot of that stuff at college; put on acouple of frat plays and managed the Mask Club two seasons. "

"Too bad the Corrugated Trust offers such a limited field for yourtalents, " says Old Hickory. "Only one annual dinner of the Crab Society. You organized that, I suppose?"

"Guilty, " says Brink. 

"And I understand you were responsible for the Corrugated baseball team, and are now conducting a pool tournament?" goes on Old Hickory. 

"Oh, yes, " says Brink, sort of weary. "I'm not denying a thing. I waseven planning a little noonday dancing club for the stenographers. Youmay put that in the indictment if you like. "

"H-m-m-m!" says Old Hickory, scratchin' his ear. "I think that will beall, young man. "

Brink starts for the door but comes back. "Not that I mind being fired, Mr. Ellins, " says he. "I don't blame you a bit for that, for I supposeI'm about the worst bond clerk in the business. I did try at first toget into the work, but it was no good. Guess I wasn't cut out for thatparticular line. So we'll both be better off. But about that He-Crab actof mine. Sounds a bit raw, doesn't it? I expect it was, too. I'd like tosay, though, that all I meant by it was to make a little fun for theboys. No personal animosity behind it, sir, even if----"

Old Hickory waves his hand careless. "I'm beginning to get your point ofview, Hollis, " says he. "The boss is always fair game, eh?"

"Something like that, " says Brink. "Still, I hate to leave with youthinking----"

"You haven't been asked to leave--as yet, " says Old Hickory. "I did haveyou slated for dismissal a half hour ago, and I may stick to it. Only myprivate secretary seemed to think I didn't know what I was doing. Perhaps he was right. I'm going to let your case simmer for a day or so. Now clear out, both of you. "

We slid through the door. "Much obliged for making the try, Torchy, "says Brink. "You had your nerve with you, I'll say. "

"Easiest thing I do, old son, " says I. "Besides, his ain't a case ofingrowin' grouch, you know. "

"I was just getting that hunch myself, " says Brink. "Shouldn't wonderbut he was quite a decent old boy when you got under the crust. If I wasonly of some use around the place I'll bet we'd get along fine. As itis----" He spreads out his hands. 

"Trust Old Hickory Ellins to find out whether you're any use or not, "says I. "He don't miss many tricks. If you do get canned, though, youcan make up your mind that finance is your short suit. "

Nearly a week goes by without another word from Mr. Ellins. And everynight as Brink streamed out with the advance guard at 5 o'clock he'dstop long enough at my desk to swap a grin with me and whisper: "Well, Iwon't have to break the news to Dad tonight, anyway. "

"Nor to the young lady, either, " says I. 

"Oh, I had to spill it to Marjorie, first crack, " says he. "She'shelping me hold my breath. "

And then here yesterday mornin', as I'm helping Old Hickory sort themail, he picks out a letter from our Western manager and slits it open. 

"Hah!" says he, through his cigar. "I think this solves our problem, Torchy. "

"Yes, sir?" says I, gawpin'. 

"Call in that young humorist of yours from the bond room, " says he. 

And I yanks Brink Hollis off the high stool impetuous. 

"Know anything about industrial welfare work, young man?" demands OldHickory of him. 

"I've seen it mentioned in magazine articles, " says Brink, "but that'sabout all. Don't think I ever read one. "

"So much the better, " says Mr. Ellins. "You'll have a chance to start infresh, with your own ideas. "

"I--I beg pardon?" says Brink, starin' puzzled. 

"You're good at play organizing, aren't you, " goes on Old Hickory. "Well, here's an opportunity to spread yourself. One of themanufacturing units we control out in Ohio. Three thousand men, in alittle one-horse town where there's nothing better to do in their sparetime than go to cheap movies and listen to cheaper walking delegates. Iguess they need you more than we do in the bond room. Organize 'em asmuch as you like. Show 'em how to play. Give that He-Crab act if youwish. We'll start you in at a dollar a man. That satisfactory?"

I believe Brink tried to say it was, only what he got out was so chokyyou could hardly tell. But he goes out beamin'. 

"Well!" says Old Hickory, turnin' to me. "I suppose he'll call thatcoming safely out of a nose dive, eh?"

"Or side-slippin' into success, " says I. "I think you've picked anotherwinner, Mr. Ellins. "

"Huh!" he grunts. "You mean you think you helped me do it. But I wantyou to understand, young man, that I learned to be tolerant of otherpeople's failings long before you were born. Toleration. It's thekeystone of every big career. I've practiced it, too, except--well, except after a bad night. "

And then, seein' that rare flicker in Old Hickory's eyes, I gives himthe grin. Oh, sure you can. It's all in knowin' when. 

CHAPTER X

'IKKY-BOY COMES ALONG

Being a parent grows on you, don't it? Course, at first, when it'ssprung on you so kind of sudden, you hardly know how to act. That is, ifyou're makin' your debut in the part. And I expect for a few monthsthere, after young Richard Hemmingway Ballard came and settled down withVee and me, I put up kind of a ragged amateur performance as a fondfather. All I can say about it now is I hope I didn't look as foolish asI felt. 

As for Vee, she seemed to get her lines and business perfect from thestart. Somehow young mothers do. She knew how to handle the youngsterright off; how to hold him and what to say to him when he screwed up hisface and made remarks to her that meant nothing at all to me. And shewasn't fussed or anything when company came in and caught her at it. Also young Master Richard seemed to be right at home from the veryfirst. Didn't seem surprised or strange or nervous in the presence ofa pair of parents that he found wished on him without much warnin'. Justgazed at us as calm and matter-of-fact as if he'd known us a long time. While me, well it must have been weeks before I got over feelin' kind ofpanicky whenever I was left alone with him. 

But are we acquainted now? I'll say we are. In fact, as Harry Landerused to put it, vurra well acquainted. Chummy, I might say. Why not, after we've stood two years of each other without any serious dispute?Not that I'm claimin' any long-distance record as a model parent. No. Iexpect I do most of the things I shouldn't and only a few of them that Ishould. But 'Ikky-boy ain't a critical youngster. That's his own way ofsayin' his name and mostly we call him that. Course, he answers toothers, too; such as Old Scout, and Snoodlekins, and young Rough-houser. I mean, he does when he ain't too busy with important enterprises; suchas haulin' Buddy, the Airedale pup, around by the ears; or spoonin' inmilk and cereal, with Buddy watchin' hopeful for sideslips; or pullin'out the spool drawer of Vee's work table. 

It's been hinted to us by thoughtful friends who have all the scientificdope on bringin' up children, although most of 'em never had any oftheir own, that this is all wrong. Accordin' to them we ought to startright in makin' him drop whatever he's doin' and come to us the minutewe call. Maybe we should, too. But that ain't the way it works out, forgenerally, we don't want anything special, and he seems so wrapped up inhis private little affairs that it don't seem worth while breakin' inon his program. Course, maulin' Buddy around may seem to us like afrivolous pastime, but how can you tell if it ain't the serious businessin life to 'Ikky-boy just then? Besides, Buddy seems to like it. So as arule we let 'em finish the game. 

But there is one time each day when he's always ready to quit any kindof fun and come toddlin' with his hands stretched out and a wide grin onhis chubby little face. That's along about 6:15 when I blow in fromtown. Then he's right there with the merry greetin' and the friendlymotions. Also his way of addressin' his male parent would give anotherjolt to a lot of people, I suppose. 

"Hi, Torchy!" That's his favorite hail. 

"Reddy yourself, you young freshy, " I'm apt to come back at him. 

Followin' which I scooch to meet his flyin' tackle and we roll on therug in a clinch, with Buddy yappin' delighted and mixin' inpromiscuously. Finally we end up on the big davenport in front of thefireplace and indulge in a few minutes of lively chat. 

"Well, 'Ikky-boy, how you and Buddy been behavin' yourselves, eh?" I'llask. "Which has been the worst cut-up today, eh?"

"Buddy bad dog, " he'll say, battin' him over the head with a pink fist. "See?" And he'll exhibit a tear in his rompers or a chewed sleeve. 

"Huh! I'll bet it's been fifty-fifty, you young rough-houser, " I'llsay. "Who do you like best around this joint, anyway?"

"Buddy, " is always the answer. 

"And next?" I'll demand. 

"Mamma, " he'll say. 

"Hey, where do I come in?" I'll ask, shakin' him. 

Then he'll screw up his mouth mischievous and say: "Torchy come in door. Torchy, Torchy!"

I'll admit Vee ain't so strong for all this. His callin' me Torchy, Imean. She does her best, too, to get him to change it to Daddy. But thatword don't seem to be on 'Ikky-boy's list at all. He picked up theTorchy all by himself and he seems to want to stick to it. I don't mind. Maybe it ain't just the thing for a son and heir to spring on aperfectly good father, chucklin' over it besides, but it sounds quiteall right to me. Don't hurt my sense of dignity a bit. 

And it looks like he'll soon come to be called young Torchy himself. Uh-huh. For a while there Vee was sure his first crop of hair, which waswheat colored like hers, was goin' to be the color scheme of hispermanent thatch. But when the second growth begun to show up red shehad to revise her forecast. Now there's no doubt of his achievin' apink-plus set of wavy locks that'll make a fresh-painted fire hydrantlook faded. They're gettin' brighter and brighter and I expect in timethey'll show the same new copper kettle tints that mine do. 

"I don't care, " says Vee "I rather like it. "

"That's the brave talk, Vee!" says I. "It may be all he'll inherit fromme, but it ain't so worse at that. With that hair in evidence therewon't be much danger of his being lost in a crowd. Folks will rememberhim after one good look. Besides, it's always sort of cheerin' on arainy day. He'll be able to brighten up the corner where he is withoutany dope from Billy Sunday. Course, he'll be joshed a lot about it, butthat'll mean he'll either have to be a good scrapper or develop aneasy-grin disposition, so he wins both ways. "

The only really disappointed member of the fam'ly is Vee's Auntie. Lasttime she was out here she notices the change in 'Ikky-boy's curls andsighs over it. 

"I had hoped, " says she, "that the little fellow's hair would be--well, of a different shade. "

"Sort of a limousine body-black, eh?" says I. "Funny it ain't, too. "

"But he will be so--so conspicuous, " she goes on. 

"There are advantages, " says I, "in carryin' your own spotlight withyou. Now take me. "

But Auntie only sniffs and changes the subject. 

She's a grand old girl, though. A little hard to please, I'll admit. I've been at it quite some time, but it's only now and then I can doanything that seems to strike her just right. Mostly she disapproves ofme, and she's the kind that ain't a bit backward about lettin' you know. Her remarks here the other day when she arrives to help celebrate MasterRichard's second birthday will give you an idea. 

You see, she happens to be in the living room when me and 'Ikky-boy hasour reg'lar afternoon reunion. Might be we went at it a little strongerand rougher than usual, on account of the youngster's havin' been heldquiet in her lap for a half hour or so. 

"Hi, hi, ol' Torchy, Torchy!" he shouts, grippin' both hands into myhair gleeful. 

"Burny burn!" says I makin' a hissin' noise. 

"Yah, yah! 'Ikky-boy wanna ride hossy, " says he. 

"And me with my trousers just pressed!" says I. "Say, where do you getthat stuff?"

"I must say, " comes in Auntie, "that I don't consider that the properway to talk to a child. "

"Oh, he don't mind, " says I. 

"But he is so apt to learn such expressions and use them himself, " saysshe. 

"Yes, he picks up a lot, " says I. "He's clever that way. Aren't you, youyoung tarrier?"

"Whe-e-e!" says 'Ikky-boy, slidin' off my knee to make a dive at Buddyand roll him on the floor. 

"One should speak gently to a child, " says Auntie, "and use only thebest English. "

"I might be polite to him, " says I, "if he'd be polite to me, but thatdon't seem to be his line. "

Auntie shrugs her shoulders and gives us up as hopeless. We're in badwith her, both of us, and I expect if there'd been a lawyer handy she'drevised her will on the spot. Honest, it's lucky the times she's decidedto cross me off as one of her heirs don't show on me anywhere or I'd benotched up like a yardstick, and if I'd done any worryin' over thesespells of hers I'd be an albino from the ears up. But when she startscastin' the cold eye at Richard Hemmingway I almost works up that guiltyfeelin' and wonders if maybe I ain't some to blame. 

"You ain't overlookin, the fact, are you, Auntie, " I suggests, "thathe's about 100 per cent. Boy? He's full of pep and jump and go, same asBuddy, and he's just naturally got to let it out. "

"I fail to see, " says Auntie, "how teaching him to use slang is at allnecessary. As you know, that is something of which I distinctlydisapprove. "

"Now that you remind me, " says I, "seems I have heard you say somethingof the kind before. And take it from me I'm going to make a stab attrainin' him different. Right now. Richard, approach your father. "

'Ikky-boy lets loose of Buddy's collar and stares at me impish. 

"Young man, " says I severe, "I want you to lay off that slang stuff. Ditch it. It ain't lady like or refined. And in future when you conversewith your parents see that you do it respectful and proper. Get me?"

At which 'Ikky-boy looks bored. "Whee!" he remarks boisterous, makin' agrab for Buddy's stubby tail and missin' it. 

"Perfectly absurd!" snorts Auntie, retirin' haughty to the bay window. 

"Disqualified!" says I, under my breath. "Might as well go the limit, Snoodlekins. We'll have to grow up in our own crude way. "

That was the state of affairs when this Mrs. Proctor Butt comes crashin'in on the scene of our strained domestic relations. Trust her to appearat just the wrong time. Mrs. Buttinski I call her, and she lives up tothe name. 

She's a dumpy built blond party, Mrs. Proctor Butt, with projectin'front teeth, bulgy blue eyes and a hurried, trottin' walk like a duckmakin' for a pond. Her chief aim in life seems to be to be better postedon your affairs than you are yourself, and, of course, that keeps herreasonably busy. Also she's a lady gusher from Gushville. Now, I don'tobject to havin' a conversational gum drop tossed at me once in a while, sort of offhand and casual. But that ain't Mrs. Buttinski's method. Shefeeds you raw molasses with a mixin' spoon. Just smears you with it. 

"Isn't it perfectly wonderful, " says she, waddlin' in fussy, "that yourdear darling little son should be two years old? Do you know, Mrs. Robert Ellins just told me of what an important day it was in the livesof you two charming young people, so I came right over to congratulateyou. And here I discover you all together in your beautiful little home, proud father and all. How fortunate!"

As she's beamin' straight at me I has to give her some comeback. "Yes, you're lucky, all right, " says I. "Another minute and you wouldn't foundme here, for I was just----"

Which is where I gets a frown and a back-up signal from Vee. She don'tlike Mrs. Proctor Butt a bit more'n I do but she ain't so frank aboutlettin' her know it. 

"Oh, please don't run away, " begs Mrs. Butt. "You make such an idealyoung couple. As I tell Mr. Butt, I just can't keep my eyes off you twowhenever I see you out together. "

"I'm sure that's nice of you to say so, " says Vee, blushin'. 

"Oh, every one thinks the same of you, my dear, " says the lady. "Only Isimply can't keep such things to myself. I have such an impulsivenature. And I adore young people and children, positively adore them. And now where is the darling little baby that I haven't seen for monthsand months? You'll forgive my running in at this unseasonable hour, Iknow, but I just couldn't wait another day to--oh, there he is, thedarling cherub! And isn't that a picture for an artist?"

He'd have to be some rapid-fire paint slinger if he was to use 'Ikky-boyas a model just then for him and Buddy was havin' a free-for-all mix-upbehind the davenport that nothing short of a movie camera would havedone justice to. 

"Oh, you darling little fellow!" she gurgles on. "I must hold you in myarms just a moment. Please, mother mayn't I?"

"I--I'm afraid you would find him rather a lively armful just now, "warns Vee. "You see, when he gets to playing with Buddy he's apt to----"

"Oh, I sha'n't mind a bit, " says Mrs. Butt. "Besides, the little dearsalways seem to take to me. Do let me have him for a moment?"

"You get him, Torchy, " says Vee. 

So after more or less maneuverin' I untangles the two, shuts Buddy inanother room, and deposits 'Ikky-boy, still kickin' and strugglin'indignant, in whatever lap Mrs. Butt has to offer. 

Then she proceeds to rave over him. It's enough to make you seasick. Positively. "Oh, what exquisite silky curls of spun gold!" she gushes. "And such heavenly big blue eyes with the long lashes, and his 'ittlerosebud mousie. O-o-o-o-o!"

From that on all she spouts is baby talk, while she mauls and paws himaround like he was a sack of meal. I couldn't help glancin' at Auntie, for that's one thing she and Vee have agreed on, that strangers wasn'tto be allowed to take any such liberties with baby. Besides, Auntienever did have any use for this Mrs. Butt anyway and hardly speaks toher civil when she meets her. Now Auntie is squirmin' in her chair and Ican guess how her fingers are itchin' to rescue the youngster. 

"Um precious 'ittle sweetums, ain't oo?" gurgles Mrs. Butt, rootin' himin the stomach with her nose. "Won't um let me tiss um's tweet 'ittlepinky winky toes?"

She's just tryin' to haul off one of his shoes when 'Ikky-boy cuts loosewith the rough motions, fists and feet both in action, until she has tostraighten up to save her hat and her hair. 

"Dess one 'ittle toe-tiss?" she begs. 

"Say, " demands 'Ikky-boy, pushin' her face away fretful, "where oo get'at stuff?"

"Wha-a-at?" gasps Mrs. Butt. 

"Lay off 'at, tant you?" says he "Oo--oo give 'Ikky-boy a big pain, Oodoes. G'way!"

"Why, how rude!" says Mrs. Butt, gazin' around bewildered; and then, asshe spots that approvin' smile on Auntie's face, she turns red in theears. 

Say, I don't know when I've seen the old girl look so tickled overanything. What she's worked up is almost a grin. And there's no doubtthat Mrs. Butt knows why it's there. 

"Of course, " says she, "if you approve of such language----" and handin'the youngster over to Vee she straightens her lid and makes a quickexit. 

"Bing!" says I. "I guess we got a slap on the wrist that time. "

"I don't care a bit, " says Vee, holdin' her chin well up. "She had nobusiness mauling baby in that fashion. "

"I ain't worryin' if she never comes back, " says I, "only I'd justpromised Auntie to train 'Ikky-boy to talk different and----"

"Under similar provocation, " says Auntie, "I might use the sameexpressions--if I knew how. "

"Hip, hip, for Auntie!" I sings out. "And as for your not knowin' how, that's easy fixed. 'Ikky-boy and I will give you lessons. "

And say, after he'd finished his play and was about ready to be tuckedinto his crib, what does the young jollier do but climb up in Auntie'slap and cuddle down folksy, all on his own motion. 

"Do you like your old Auntie, Richard?" she asks, smoothin' his redcurls gentle. 

"Uh-huh, " says 'Ikky-boy, blinkin' up at her mushy. "Oo's a swellAuntie. "

Are we back in the will again? I'll guess we are. 

CHAPTER XI

LOUISE REVERSES THE CLOCK

It was one of Mr. Robert's cute little ideas, you might know. He's aneasy boss in a good many ways and I have still to run across a job thatI'd swap mine for, the pay envelopes being fifty-fifty. But say, when itcomes to usin' a private sec. Free and careless he sure is an ace ofaces. 

Maybe you don't remember, but I almost picked out his wife for him, andwhen she'd set the date he turns over all the rest of the details to me, even to providin' a minister and arrangin' his bridal tour. Honest Iexpect when the time comes for him to step up and be measured for a setof wings and a halo he'll look around for me to hold his place in theline until his turn comes. And he won't be quite satisfied with thearrangements unless I'm on hand. 

So I ought to be prepared for 'most any old assignment to be hung on thehook. I must say, though, that in the case of this domestic mix-up ofMrs. Bruce Mackey's I was caught gawpin' on and unsuspectin'. In fact, Iwas smotherin' a mild snicker at the situation, not dreamin' that I'dever get any nearer to it than you would to some fool movie plot youmight be watchin' worked out on the screen. 

We happens to crash right into the middle of it, Vee and me, when wedrops in for our usual Sunday afternoon call on the Ellinses and findsthese week-end guests of theirs puttin' it up to Mr. And Mrs. Robert totell 'em what they ought to do. Course, this Mrs. Mackey is an oldfriend of Mrs. Robert's and we'd seen 'em both out there before; infact, we'd met 'em when she was Mrs. Richard Harrington and Bruce wasjust a sympathetic bachelor sort of danglin' around and makin' himselfuseful. So it wasn't quite as if they'd sprung the thing on totalstrangers. 

And, anyway, it don't rate very rank as a scandal. Not as scandals run. This No. 1 hubby, Harrington, had simply got what was coming to him, only a little late. Never was cut out to play the lead in a quietdomestic sketch. Not with his temperament and habits. Hardly. Besides, he was well along in his sporty career when he discovered this19-year-old pippin with the trustin' blue eyes and the fascinatin' cheekdimples. But you can't tell a bad egg just by glancin' at the shell, andshe didn't stop to hold him in front of a candle. Lucky for thesuspender wearin' sex there ain't any such pre-nuptial test as that, eh?She simply tucked her head down just above the top pearl stud, Isuppose, and said she would be his'n without inquirin' if that cocktailbreath of his was a regular thing or just an accident. 

But she wasn't long in findin' out that it was chronic. Oh yes. Hewasn't known along Broadway as Dick Harry for nothing. He might be moreor less of a success as a corporation lawyer between 10:30 and 5 p. M. In the daytime, but after the shades of night was well tied down and thecabarets begun takin' the lid off he was apt to be missin' from thefam'ly fireside. Wine, women and the deuces wild was his specialties, and when little wifie tried to read the riot act to him at 3 a. M. Hejust naturally told her where she got off. And on occasions, when thedeuces hadn't been runnin' his way, or the night had been wilder thanusual, he was quite rough about it. 

Yet she'd stood for that sort of thing nine long years before applyin'for a decree. She got it, of course, with the custody of the little girland a moderate alimony allowance. He didn't even file an answer, so itwas all done quiet with no stories in the newspapers. And then for eightor ten years she'd lived by herself, just devotin' all her time tolittle Polly, sendin' her to school, chummin' with her durin' vacations, and tryin' to make her forget that she had a daddy in the discards. 

Must have been several tender-hearted male parties who was sorry for alonely grass widow who was a perfect 36 and showed dimples when shelaughed, but none of 'em seemed to have the stayin' qualities of BruceMackey. He had a little the edge on the others, too, because he was anold fam'ly friend, havin' known Dick Harry both before and after he gotthe domestic dump. At that, though, he didn't win out until he'd almostbroken the long distance record as a patient waiter, and I understand itwas only when little Miss Polly got old enough to hint to Mommer thatUncle Bruce would suit her first rate as a stepdaddy that the match wasfinally pulled off. 

And now Polly, who's barely finished at boardin' school, has announcedthat she intends to get married herself. Mommer has begged her weepy notto take the high dive so young, and pointed out where she made her ownbig mistake in that line. But Polly comes back at her by declarin' thather Billy is a nice boy. There's no denyin' that. Young Mr. Curtis seemsto be as good as they come. He'd missed out on his last year at college, but he'd spent it in an aviation camp and he was just workin' up quite arep. As pilot of a bombin' plane when the closed season on Hun towns wasdeclared one eleventh of November. Then he'd come back modest to helphis father run the zinc and tinplate trust, or something like that, andwas payin' strict attention to business until he met Polly at a footballgame. After that he had only one aim in life, which was leadin' Polly upthe middle aisle with the organ playin' that breath of Eden piece. 

Well, what was a fond mommer to do in a case like that? Polly admitsbeing a young person, but she insists that she knows what she wants. Andone really couldn't find any fault with Billy. She had had Bruce look uphis record and, barrin' a few little 9 a. M. Police court dates made forhim by grouchy traffic cops, it was as clean as a new shirt front. True, he had been born in Brooklyn, but his family had moved to Madison Avenuebefore he was old enough to feel the effects. 

So at last Mrs. Mackey had given in. Things had gone so far as settlin'the date for the weddin'. It was to be some whale of an affair, too, forboth the young folks had a lot of friends and on the Curtis sideespecially there was a big callin' list to get invitations. Nothing buta good-sized church would hold 'em all. 

Which was where Bruce Mackey, usually a mild sort of party and kind ofretirin', had come forward with the balky behavior. 

"What do you think?" says Mrs. Bruce. "He says he won't go near thechurch. "

"Eh?" demands Mr. Robert, turnin' to him. "What do you mean by that, Bruce?"

Mr. Mackey shakes his head stubborn. "Think I can stand up there beforea thousand or more people and give Polly away?" says he. "No. I--Isimply can't do it. "

"But why not?" insists Mrs. Robert. 

"Well, she isn't my daughter, " says he, "and it isn't my place to bethere. Dick should do it. "

"But don't you see, Bruce, " protests Mrs. Mackey, "that if he did I--Ishould have to--to meet him again?"

"What of it?" says Bruce. "It isn't likely he'd beat you in church. Andas he is Polly's father he ought to be the one to give her away. That'sonly right and proper, as I see it. "

And there was no arguin' him out of that notion. He came from an oldScotch Presbyterian family. Bruce Mackey did, and while he was easygoin' about most things now and then he'd bob up with some hard-shellideas like this. Principles, he called 'em. Couldn't get away from 'em. 

"But just think, Bruce, " goes on Mrs. Mackey, "we haven't seen eachother for ever so many years. I--I wouldn't like it at all. "

"Hope you wouldn't, " says Bruce. "But I see no other way. You ought togo to the church with him, and he ought to bring you home afterwards. Heneedn't stay for the reception unless he wants to. But as Polly'sfather----"

"Oh, don't go over all that again, " she breaks in. "I suppose I must doit. That is, if he's willing. I'll write him and ask if he is. "

"No, " says Bruce. "I don't think you ought to write. This is such apersonal matter and a letter might seem--well, too formal. "

"What shall I do, then?" demands Mrs. Mackey. "Telephone?"

"I hardly think one should telephone a message of that sort, " saysBruce. "Someone ought to see him, explain the situation, and get hisreply directly. "

"Then you go, Bruce, dear, " suggests Mrs. Mackey. 

No, he shies at that. "Dick would resent my coming on such an errand, "says Bruce. "Besides, I should feel obliged to urge him that it was hisduty to go, and if he feels inclined to refuse---- Well, of course, wehave done our part. "

"Then you rather hope he'll refuse to come?" she asks. 

"I don't allow myself to think any such thing, " says Bruce. "It wouldn'tbe right. But if he should decide not to it would be rather a relief, wouldn't it? In that ease I suppose I should be obliged to act in hisstead. He ought to be asked, though. "

Mr. Robert chuckles. "I wish I had an acrobatic conscience such asyours, Bruce, " says he. "I could amuse myself for hours watching it turnflip-flops. "

"Too bad yours died so young, " Bruce raps back at him. 

"Oh, I don't know, " says Mr. Robert. "There are compensations. I don'tgrow dizzy trying to follow it when it gets frisky. To get back to themain argument, however; just how do you think the news should be brokento Dick Harrington?"

"Someone ought to go to see him, " says Bruce; "a--a person who couldstate the circumstances fairly and sound him out to see how he feltabout it. You know? Someone who would--er----"

"Do the job like a Turkish diplomat inviting an Armenian revolutionistto come and dine with him in some secluded mosque at daybreak, eh?" asksMr. Robert. "Polite, but not insistent, I suppose?"

"Oh, something like that, " says Bruce. 

"He's right here, " says Mr. Robert. 

"I beg pardon?" says Bruce, starin'. 

"Torchy, " says Mr. Robert. "He'll do it with finesse and finish, and ifthere's any way of getting Dick to hang back by pretending to push himahead our young friend who cerebrates in high speed will discover thesame. "

"Ah, come, Mr. Robert!" says I. 

"Oh, we shall demand no miracles, " says he. "But you understand thesituation. Mr. Mackey's conscience is on the rampage and he's makingthis sacrifice as a peace offering. If the altar fires consume it, that's his look out. You get me, I presume?"

"Oh, sure!" says I. "Sayin' a piece, wasn't you?"

Just the same, I'm started out at 2:30 Monday afternoon to interview Mr. Dick Harrington on something intimate and personal. Mr. Robert has been'phonin' his law offices and found that Mr. Harrington can probably belocated best up in the Empire Theatre building, where they're havin' arehearsal of a new musical show that he's interested in financially. 

"With a sentimental interest, no doubt, in some sweet young thing whodances or sings, or thinks she does, " comments Mr. Robert. "Anyway, lookhim up. "

And by pushin' through a lot of doors that had "Keep Out" signs on 'em, and givin' the quick back up to a few fresh office boys, I trails Mr. Dick Harrington into the dark front of a theatre where he's sittin' withthe producer and four of the seven authors of the piece watchin' a stagefull of more or less young ladies in street clothes who are listenin'sort of bored while a bald-headed party in his shirt sleeves asks 'emfor the love of Mike can't they move a little less like they was allspavined. 

Don't strike me as just the place to ask a man will he stand up inchurch and help his daughter get married, but I had my orders. I slipsinto a seat back of him, taps him on the shoulder, and whispers how Ihave a message for him from his wife as was. 

"From Louise?" says he. "The devil you say!"

"I could put it better, " I suggests, "if we could find a place wherethere wasn't quite so much competition. "

"Very well, " says he. "Let's go back to the office. And by the way, Marston, when you get to that song of Mabel's hold it until I'm throughwith this young man. "

And when he's towed me to the manager's sanctum he demands: "Well, what's gone wrong with Louise?"

"Nothing much, " says I, "except that Miss Polly is plannin' to bemarried soon. "

"Married!" he gasps. "Polly? Why, she's only a child!"

"Not at half past nineteen, " says I. "I should call her considerableyoung lady. "

"Well, I'll be blanked!" says he. "Little Polly grown up and wanting tobe married! She ought to be spanked instead. What are they after; myconsent, eh?"

"Oh, no, " says I. "It's all settled. Twenty-fifth of next month at St. Luke's. You're cast for the giving away act. "

"Wh-a-at?" says he, his heavy under jaw saggin' astonished. "Me?"

"Fathers usually do, " says I, "when they're handy. "

"And in good standing, " he adds. "You--er--know the circumstances, Ipresume?"

"Uh-huh, " says I. "Don't seem to make any difference to them, though. They've got you down for the part. Church weddin', you know; big mob, swell affair. I expect that's why they think everything ought to beaccordin' to Hoyle. "

"Just a moment, young man, " says he, breathin' a bit heavy. "I--Iconfess this is all rather disturbing. "

It was easy to see that. He's fumblin' nervous with a gold cigarettecase and his hand trembles so he can hardly hold a match. Maybe some ofthat was due to his long record as a whiteway rounder. The puffy bagsunder the eyes and the deep face lines couldn't have been worked upsudden, though. 

"Can you guess how long it has been since I have appeared in a church?"he goes on. "Not since Louise and I were married. And I imagine I wasn'ta particularly appropriate figure to be there even then. I fear I'vechanged some, too. Frankly now, young man, how do you think I would lookbefore the altar?"

"Oh, I'm no judge, " says I. "And I expect that with a clean shave and ina frock coat----"

"No, " he breaks in, "I can't see myself doing it. Not before all thatmob. How many guests did you say?"

"Only a thousand or so, " says I. 

He shudders. "How nice!" says he. "I can hear 'em whispering to eachother: 'Yes that's her father--Dick Harry, you know. She divorced him, and they say----' No, no, I--I couldn't do it. You tell Louise that----Oh, by the way! What about her? She must have changed, too. Rather stoutby this time, I suppose?"

"I shouldn't say so, " says I. "Course I don't know what she used to be, but I'd call her more or less classy. "

"But she is--let me see--almost forty, " he insists. 

"You don't mean it?" says I, openin' my mouth to register surprise. Thislooked like a good line to me and I thought I'd push it. "Course, " Igoes on, "with a daughter old enough to wear orange blossoms, I mighthave figured that for myself. But I'll be hanged if she looks it. Why, lots of folks take her and Polly for sisters. "

He's eatin' that up, you can see. "Hm-m-m!" says he, rubbin' his chin. "I suppose I would be expected to--er--meet her there?"

"I believe the program is for you to take her to the church and bringher back for the reception, " says I. "Yes, you'd have a chance for quitea reunion. "

"I wonder how it would seem, talking to Louise again, " says he. 

"Might be a little awkward at first, " says I, "but----"

"Do you know, " he breaks in, "I believe I should like it. If you thinkshe's good looking now, young man, you should have seen her at 19, at22, or at 25. What an ass I was! And now I suppose she's like a fullblown rose, perfect, exquisite?"

"Oh, I don't mean she's any ravin' beauty, " says I, hedgin'. 

"You don't, eh?" says he. "Well, I'd just like to see. You may tell herthat I will----No, I'll 'phone her myself. Where is she?"

And all the stallin' around I could do didn't jar him away from thatidea. He seems to have forgotten all about this Mabel person who wasgoing to sing. He wanted to call up Louise right away. And he did. 

So I don't have any chesty bulletin to hand Mr. Robert when I gets back. 

"Well?" says he. "Did you induce him to give the right answer?"

"Almost, " says I. "Had him panicky inside of three minutes. "

"And then?" asks Mr. Robert. 

"I overdid the act, " says I. "Talked too much. He's coming. "

Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. "Serves Bruce right, " says he. "Iwonder, though, how Louise will take it. "

For a couple of days she took it hard. Just talking over the 'phone withDick Harrington left her weak and nervous. Said she couldn't sleep allthat night for thinking what it would be like to meet an ex-hubby thatshe hadn't seen for so long. She tried to picture how he would look, andhow she would look to him. Then she braced up. 

"If I must go through it, " she confides to Mrs. Robert, "I mean to lookmy best. "

Isn't that the female instinct for you?

As a matter of fact I'd kind of thrown it into him a bit strong aboutwhat a stunner she was. Oh, kind of nice lookin', fair figure, andtraces of a peaches and cream complexion. There was still quite a highvoltage sparkle in the trustin' blue eyes and the cheek dimples wasstill doin' business. But she was carryin' more or less excess weightfor her height and there was the beginnings of a double chin. Besides, she always dressed quiet and sort of matronly. 

From the remarks I heard Vee make, though, just before the weddin', Ijudge that Louise intended to go the limit. While she was outfittin'Polly with the snappiest stuff to be found in the Fifth Avenue shops shepicked some for herself. I understand, too, that she was makin' reg'lartrips to a beauty parlor, and all that. 

"How foolish!" I says to Vee. "I hope when you get to be forty you won'ttry to buy your way back to 25. It simply can't be done. "

"Really?" says Vee, givin' me one of them quizzin' looks. 

And, say, that's my last stab at givin' off the wise stuff about thenose powderin' sex. Pos-itively. For I've seen Louise turn the clockback. Uh-huh! I can't tell how it was done, or go into details of theresults, but when she sails into that front pew on the big day, withDick Harrington trailin' behind, I takes one glance at her and goesbug-eyed. Was she a stunner? I'll gurgle so. What had become of thatextra 20 pounds I wouldn't even try to guess. But she's right there withthe svelte figure, the school girly flush, and the sparklin' eyes. Maybe it was the way the gown was built. Fits like the peel on a banana. Or the pert way she holds her head, or the general excitement of theoccasion. Anyway, mighty few 20-year-old screen favorites would have hadanything on her. 

As for Dick Harry--Well, he's spruced up quite a bit himself, but you'dnever mistake him for anything but an old rounder who's had a cleanshave and a face massage. And he just can't seem to see anything butLouise. Even when he has to leave and join the bridal procession hiseyes wander back to that front pew where she was waitin'. And after it'sall over I sees him watchin' her fascinated while she chatters alonglively. 

I wasn't lookin' to get his verdict at all, but later on, as I'm makin'myself useful at the reception, I runs across him just as he's slippin'away. 

"I say, young man, " says he, grabbin' me by the elbow. "Wasn't I rightabout Louise?"

"You had the dope, " says I. "Some queen, even if she is near the fortymark. "

"And only imagine, " he adds, "within a year or so she may be agrandmother!"

"That don't count these days, " says I. "It's gettin' so you can hardlytell the grandmothers from the vamps. "

And when I said that I expect I unloaded my whole stock of wisdom aboutwomen. 

CHAPTER XII

WHEN THE CURB GOT GYPPED

It was what you might call a session of the big four. Anyway, that's theway I'd put it; for besides Old Hickory, planted solid in his mahoganyswing chair with his face lookin' more'n ever like a two-tone cut of theRock of Gibraltar, there was Mr. Robert, and Piddie and me. Someaggregation, I'll say. And it didn't need any jiggly message from theouija board to tell that something important in the affairs of theCorrugated Trust might happen within the next few minutes. You couldalmost feel it in the air. Piddie did. You could see that by the nervousway he was twitchin' his lips. 

Course it was natural the big boss should turn first to me. "Torchy, " hegrowls, "shut that door. "

And as I steps around to close the only exit from the private office Icould watch Piddie's face turn the color of a piece of cheese. Mr. Robert looks kind of serious, too. 

"Gentlemen, " goes on Old Hickory, tossin' the last three inches of adouble Corona reckless into a copper bowl, "there's a leak somewhere inthis office. "

That gets a muffled gasp out of Piddie which puts him under thespotlight at once, and when he finds we're all lookin' at him he goesthrough all the motions of a cabaret patron tryin' to sneak past one ofMr. Palmer's agents with something on the hip. If he'd been caught inthe act of borin' into the bond safe he couldn't have looked anyguiltier. 

"I--er--I assure you, Mr. Ellins, " he begins spluttery, "thatI--ah--I----"

"Bah!" snorts Old Hickory impatient. "Who is implying that you do? Ifyou were under suspicion in the least you wouldn't have been called inhere, Mr. Piddie. So your panic is quite unnecessary. "

"Of course, " puts in Mr. Robert. "Don't be absurd, Piddie. Anything newthis morning, Governor?"

"Rather, " says Old Hickory, pointin' to a Wall Street daily that hasbroke loose on its front page with a three-column headline. "See whatthe Curb crowd did to G. L. T. Common yesterday? Traded nearly onehundred thousand shares and hammered the opening quotations for atwenty-point loss. All on a rumor of a passed dividend. Well, you knowthat at three o'clock the day before we tabled a motion to pass thatdividend and that an hour later, with a full board present, we decidedto pay the regular four per cent semi-annual. But the announcement wasnot to be made until next Monday. Yet during that hour someone fromthis office must have carried out news of that first motion. True, itwas a false tip; but I propose, gentlemen, to find out where that leakcame from. "

There's only one bet I'd be willin' to make on a proposition of thatkind. If Old Hickory had set himself to trail down anything he'd do it. And we'd have to help. 

Course, this Great Lakes Transportation is only one of our side linesthat we carry on a separate set of books just to please the AttorneyGeneral. And compared to other submerged subsidiaries, as Mr. Robertcalls 'em, it don't amount to much. But why its outstanding stock shouldbe booted around Broad Street was an interestin' question. Also who theparty was that was handin' out advance dope on such confidential detailsas board meetin' motions--Well, that was more so. Next time it might bea tip on something important. Mr. Robert suggests this. 

"There is to be no next time, " says Old Hickory, settin' his jaw. 

So we starts the drag-net. First we went over the directors who had beenpresent. Only five, includin' Old Hickory and Mr. Robert. And of theother three there was two that it would have been foolish to ask. Close-mouthed as sea clams after being shipped to Kansas City. The thirdwas Oggie Kendall, a club friend of Mr. Robert's, who'd been draggeddown from luncheon to make up a quorum. 

"Oggie might have chattered something through sheer carelessness, " saysMr. Robert. "I'll see if I can get him on the 'phone. "

He could. But it takes Mr. Robert nearly five minutes to explain toOggie what he's being queried about. Finally he gives it up. 

"Oh, never mind, " says he, hangin' up. Then, turnin' to us, he shrugshis shoulders. "It wasn't Oggie. Why, he doesn't even know which boardhe was acting on, and says he doesn't remember what we were talkingabout. Thought it was some sort of committee meeting. "

"Then that eliminates all but some member of the office staff, " says OldHickory. "Torchy, you acted as secretary. Do you remember that anyonecame into the directors' room during our session?"

"Not a soul, " says I. 

"Except the boy Vincent, " suggests Piddie. 

"Ah, he wasn't in, " says I. "Only came to the door with some telegrams;I took 'em myself. "

"But was not a letter sent to our Western manager, " Piddie goes on, "hinting that the G. L. T. Dividend might be passed, and doesn't the boyhave access to the private letter book?"

"Carried it from my desk to the safe, that's all, " says I. 

"Still, " insists Piddie, "that would give him time enough to look. "

"Oh, sure!" says I. "And since he's been here he's had a chance tosnitch, off a barrel full of securities, or drop bombs down the elevatorwell; but somehow he hasn't. "

"Well, we might as well have him in, " says Old Hickory, pushin' thebuzzer. 

Seemed kind of silly to me, givin' fair-haired Vincent the third degreeon sketchy hunch like that. Vincent! Why, he's been with the Corrugatedfour or five years, ever since they took me off the gate. And when hewent on the job he was about the most innocent-eyed office boy, Iexpect, that you could find along Broadway. Reg'lar mommer's boy. Wasjust that, in fact. Used to tell me how worried his mother was for fearhe'd get to smokin' cigarettes, or shootin' craps, or indulgin' in otherbig-town vices. Havin' seen mother, I could well believe it. Nice, refined old girl, still wearin' a widow's bonnet. Shows up occasionallyon a half-holiday and lets Vincent take her to the Metropolitan Museum, or to a concert. 

Course, Vincent hadn't stayed as green as when he first came. Couldn't. For it's more or less of a liberal education, being on the gate in theCorrugated General Offices, as I used to tell him. You simply gotta getwise to things or you don't last. And Vincent has wised up. Oh, yes. 

Why, here only this last week, for instance, he makes a few plays that Icouldn't have done any better myself. One was when I turns over to himthe job of gettin' Pullman reservations on the Florida Limited forFreddie, the chump brother-in-law of Mr. Robert. Marjorie--that's thesister--had complained how all she could get was uppers, although they'dhad an application in for six weeks. And as she and Freddie was takingboth youngsters and two maids along they were on the point of givin' upthe trip. 

"Bah!" says Mr. Robert. "Freddie doesn't know how to do it, that's all. We'll get your reservations for you. "

So he passes it on to me, and as I'm too busy just then to monkey withPullman agents I shoots it on to Vincent. And inside of an hour he'sback with a drawin' room and a section. 

"Have to buy somebody; eh, Vincent?" I asks. 

"Oh, yes, sir, " says he cheerful. 

"Just how did you work it?" says I. 

"Well, " says Vincent, "there was the usual line, of course. And theagent told three people ahead of me the same thing. 'Only uppers on theLimited. ' So when it came my turn I simply shoved a five through thegrill work and remarked casual: 'I believe you are holding adrawing-room and a section for me, aren't you?' 'Why, yes, ' says he. 'You're just in time, too. ' And a couple of years ago he would have doneit for a dollar. Not now, though. It takes a five to pull a drawing-roomthese days. "

"A swell bunch of grafters Uncle Sam turned back when he let go of theroads, eh?" says I. 

"It's the same in the freight department, " says Vincent. "You know thatcarload of mill machinery that had been missing for so long? Well, lastweek Mr. Robert sent me to the terminal offices for a report on theirtracer. I told him to let me try a ten on some assistant general freightagent. It worked. He went right out with a switch engine and cut thatcar out of the middle of a half-mile long train on a siding, and beforemidnight it was being loaded on the steamer. "

Also it was Vincent who did the rescue act when we was entertainin' thatbunch of government inspectors who come around once a year to see thatwe ain't carryin' any wildcat stocks on our securities list, or haven'tscuttled our sinking fund, or anything like that. Course, our books arealways in such shape that they're welcome to paw 'em over all they like. That's easy enough. But, still, there's no sense in lettin' 'em nosearound too free. Might dig up something they could ask awkward questionsabout. So Old Hickory sees to it that them inspectors has a good time, which means a suite of rooms at the Plutoria for a week, with dinnersand theatre parties every night. And now with this Volstead act beingpushed so hard it's kind of inconvenient gettin' a crowd of men into theright frame of mind. Has to be done though, no matter what may havehappened to the constitution. 

But this time it seems someone tip at the Ellins home had forgot totransfer part of the private cellar stock down to the hotel and when OldHickory calls up here we has to chase Vincent out there and have himload two heavy suitcases into a taxi and see that the same are deliveredwithout being touched by any bellhops or porters. Knew what he wascarryin', Vincent did, and the chance he was taking; but he put over theact off hand, as if he was cartin' in a case of malted milk to afoundling hospital. They do say it was some party Old Hickory gave 'em. 

I expect if a lot of folks out in the church sociable belt knew of thatthey'd put up a big howl. But what do they think? As I was tellin'Vincent: "You can't run big business on grape juice. " That is, not ourend of it. Oh, it's all right to keep the men in the plants down to oneand a half per cent stuff. Good for 'em. We got the statistics to proveit. But when it comes to workin' up friendly relations with federalagents you gotta uncork something with a kick to it. Uh-huh. What wouldthem Rubes have us do--say it with flowers? Or pass around silk socks, or scented toilet soap?

And Vincent, for all his innocent big eyes and parlor manners, has cometo know the Corrugated way of doing things. Like a book. Yet when hewalks in there on the carpet in front of Old Hickory and thecross-questionin' starts he answers up as straight and free as if hewas being asked to name the subway stations between Wall Street and theGrand Central. You wouldn't think he'd ever gypped anybody in all hisyoung career. 

Oh, yes, he'd known about the G. L. T. Board meetin'. Surely. He'd beensent up to Mr. Robert's club with the message for Oggie Kendall to comedown and do his director stunt. The private letter book? Yes, heremembered putting that away in the safe. Had he taken a look at it? Whyshould he? Vincent seems kind of hurt that anyone should suggest such athing. He stares at Old Hickory surprised and pained. Well, then, did hehappen to have any outside friends connected with the Curb; anybody thathe'd be apt to let slip little things about Corrugated affairs to?

"I should hope, sir, that if I did have such friends I would know enoughto keep business secrets to myself, " says Vincent, his lips quiverin'indignant. 

"Yes, yes, to be sure, " says Old Hickory, "but----"

Honest, he was almost on the point of apologizin' to Vincent when therecomes this knock on the private office door and I'm signalled to see whoit is. I finds one of the youths from the filin' room who's subbin' inon the gate for Vincent. He grins and whispers the message and Itells-him to stay there a minute. 

"It's a lady to see you, Mr. Ellins, " says I. "Mrs. Jerome St Claire. "

"Eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "Mrs. St. Claire? Who the syncopated Sissyphusis she?"

"Vincent's mother, sir, " says I. 

This time he lets out a snort like a freight startin' up a grade. "Well, what does she want with----?" Here he breaks off and fixes them chilledsteel eyes of his on Vincent. 

No wonder. The pink flush has faded out of Vincent's fair young cheeks, his big blue eyes are rolled anxious at the door, and he seems to betryin' to swallow something like a hard-boiled egg. 

"Your mother, eh?" says Old Hickory. "Perhaps we'd better have her in. "

"Oh, no, sir! Please. I--I'd rather see her first, " says Vincent choky. 

"Would you?" says Old Hickory. "Sorry, son, but as I understand it shehas called to see me. Torchy, show the lady in. "

I hated to do it, but there was no duckin'. Such a nice, modest littleold girl, too. She has the same innocent blue eyes as Vincent, traces ofthe same pink flush in her cheeks, and her hair is frosted up genteeland artistic. 

She don't make any false motions, either. After one glance around thegroup she picks out Old Hickory, makes straight for him, and grabs oneof his big paws in both hands. 

"Mr. Ellins, is it not?" says she. "Please forgive my coming in likethis, but I did want to tell you how grateful I am for all that youhave done for dear Vincent and me. It was so generous and kind of you?"

"Ye-e-es?" says Old Hickory, sort of draggy and encouragin'. 

"You see, " she goes on, "I had been so worried over that dreadfulmortgage on our little home, and when Vincent came home last night withthat wonderful check and told me how you had helped him invest hissavings so wisely it seemed perfectly miraculous. Just think! Twelvehundred dollars! Exactly what we needed to free our home from debt. Iknow Vincent has told you how happy you have made us both, but I simplycould not resist adding my own poor words of gratitude. "

She sure was a weak describer. Poor words! If she hadn't said a wholemouthful then my ears are no good. Less'n a minute and a half by theclock she'd been in there, but she certainly had decanted the beans. Shehad me tinted up like a display of Soviet neckwear, Piddie gawpin' ather with his face ajar, and Vincent diggin' his toes into the rug. Luckyshe had her eyes fixed on Old Hickory, whose hand-hewn face reveals justas much emotion as if he was bettin' the limit on a four-card flush. 

"It is always a great pleasure, madam, to be able to do things soopportunely, " says he; "and, I may add, unconsciously. "

"But you cannot know, " she rushes on, "how proud you have made me of mydear boy. " With that she turns to Vincent and kisses him impetuous. "Hedoes give promise of being a brilliant business man, doesn't he?" shedemands. 

"Yes, madam, " says Old Hickory, indulgin' in one of them grim smiles ofhis, "I rather think he does. "

"Ah-h-h!" says she. Another quick hug for Vincent, a happy smile tossedat Old Hickory, and she has tripped out. 

For a minute or so all you could hear in the private office was Piddie'sheart beatin' on his ribs, or maybe it was his knees knockin' together. He hasn't the temperament to sit in on deep emotional scenes, Piddie. Asfor Old Hickory, he clips the end off a six-inch brunette cigar, lightsup careful, and then turns slow to Vincent. 

"Well, young man, " says he, "so you did know about that motion to passthe dividend, after all, eh!"

Vincent nods, his head still down. 

"Took a look at the letter book, did you!" asks Old Hickory. 

Another weak nod. 

"And 'phoned a code message to someone in Broad Street, I suppose?"suggests Old Hickory. 

"No, sir, " says Vincent. "He--he was waiting in the Arcade. I slippedout and handed him a copy of the motion--as carried. But not until afterthe full board had reversed it. "

"Oh!" says Old Hickory. "Gave your friend the double cross, as I believeyou would state it?"

"He wasn't a friend, " protests Vincent. "It was Izzy Goldheimer, whoused to work in the bond room before I came. He's with a Curb firm nowand has been trying for months to work me for tips on Corrugatedholdings. Promised me a percentage. But he was a welcher, and I knew it. So when I did give him a tip it--it was that kind. "

"Hm-m-m!" says Old Hickory, wrinklin' his bushy eyebrows. "Still, I failto see just where you would have time to take advantage of suchconditions. "

"I had put up my margins on G. L. T. The day before, " explains Vincent. "Taking the short end, sir. If the dividend had gone through at first Iwould have 'phoned in to change my trade to a buying order before Izzycould get down with the news. As it didn't, I let it stand. Of course, Iknew the market would break next morning and I closed out the deal for a15-point gain. "

"Fairly clever manipulation, " comments Old Hickory. "Then you clearedabout----"

"Fifteen hundred, " says Vincent. "I could have made more by pyramiding, but I thought it best to pull out while I was sure. "

"What every plunger knows--but forgets, " says Old Hickory. "And youstill have a capital of three hundred for future operations, eh?"

"I'm through, sir, " says Vincent. '"I--I don't like lying to mother. Besides after next Monday I don't think Izzy will bother me for any moretips. I--I suppose I'm fired, sir?"

"Eh?" says Old Hickory, scowlin' at him fierce. "Fired? No. Boys whohave a dislike for lying to mother are too scarce. Besides, anyone whocan beat a curb broker at his own game ought to be valuable to theCorrugated some day. Mr. Piddie, see that this young man is promoted assoon as there's an opening. And--er--I believe that is all, gentlemen. "

As me and Piddie trickle out into the general offices Piddie whispersawed: "Wonderful man, Mr. Ellins! Wonderful!"

"How clever of you to find it out, Piddie, " says I. "Did you get thehunch from Vincent's mother?"

CHAPTER XIII

THE MANTLE OF SANDY THE GREAT

"Vincent, " says I, as I blows in through the brass gate from lunch, "who's the poddy old party you got parked on the bench out in theanteroom?"

"He's waiting to see Mr. Ellins, " says Vincent. "This is his third try. Looks to me like some up-state stockholder who wants to know whenCorrugated common will strike 110. "

"Well, that wouldn't be my guess exactly, " says I. "What's the name?"

"Dowd, " says Vincent, reachin' for a card. "Matthew K"

"Eh, " says I. "Mesaba Matt. Dowd? Say, son, your guesser is way out ofgear. You ought to get better posted on the Order of Who-Who's. "

"I'm sorry, " says Vincent, pinkin' up in the ears. "Is--is he somebodyin particular?"

"Only one of the biggest iron ore men in the game, " says I. "That is, hewas until he unloaded that Pittsburgh syndicate a few years ago. Also hemust be a special crony of Old Hickory's. Anyway, he was playin' aroundwith him down South last month. And here we let him warm a seat out inthe book-agent pen! Social error, Vincent. "

"Stupid of me, " admits Vincent. "I will--"

"Better let me soothe him down now, " says I. "Then I'll get Old Hickoryon the 'phone and tell him who's here. "

I will say that I did it in my best private sec. Style, too, urgin' himinto the private office while I explains how the boy on the gatecouldn't have read the name right and assurin' him I'd get word to Mr. Ellins at once. 

"He's only having a conference with his attorneys, " says I. "I thinkhe'll be up very, soon. Just a moment while I get him on the wire, Mr. Dowd. "

"Thank you, young man, " says Matthew K. "I--I rather would like to seeEllins today, if I could. "

"Why, sure!" says I, easin' him into Old Hickory's swing chair. 

But somehow when I'd slipped out to the 'phone booth and got in touchwith the boss he don't seem so anxious to rush up and meet his old sidekick. No. He's more or less calm about it. 

"Eh?" says he. "Dowd? Oh, yes! Well, you just tell him, Torchy, that I'mtied up here and can't say when I'll be through. He'd better not wait. "

"Excuse me, Mr. Ellins, " says I, "but he's been here twice before. Seemsto have something on his mind that--well, might be important, youknow. "

"Yes, it might be, " says Old Hickory, and I couldn't tell whether hethrew in a snort or a chuckle right there. "And since you think it is, Torchy, perhaps you'd better get him to sketch it out to you. "

"All right, " says I. "That is, if he'll loosen up. "

"Oh, I rather think he will, " says Old Hickory. 

It was a good guess. For when I tells Dowd how sorry Mr. Ellins is thathe can't come just then, and suggests that I've got power of attorney totake care of anything confidential he might spill into my nigh ear, heopens right up. 

Course, what I'm lookin' for is some big business stuff; maybe astraight tip on how this new shift in Europe is going to affect foreignexchange, or a hunch as to what the administration means to put over inregard to the railroad muddle. He's a solemn-faced, owl-eyed old party, this Mesaba Matt. Looks like he was thinkin' wise and deep about weightymatters. You know. One of these slow-movin', heavy-lidded, double-chinned old pelicans who never mention any sum less than sevenfigures. So I'm putting up a serious secretarial front myself when hestarts clearin' his throat. 

"Young man, " says he, "I suppose you know something about golf!"

"Eh?" says I. "Golf? Oh, yes. That is. I've seen it played some. I wason a trip with Mr. Ellins down at Pinehurst, five or six years back, when he broke into the game, and I read Grant Rice's dope on it more orless reg'lar. "

"But you haven't played golf yourself, have you?" he goes on. 

"No, " says I, "I've never indulged in the Scottish rite to any extent. Just a few swipes with a club. "

"Then I'm afraid, " he begins, "that you will hardly----"

"Oh, I'm a great little understander, " says I, "unless you mean to gointo the fine points, or ask me to settle which is the best course. I'veheard some of them golf addicts talk about Shawnee or Apawamis orEkwanok like--well, like Billy Sunday would talk about heaven. But I'vestretched a willing ear for Mr. Ellins often enough so I can----"

"I see, " breaks in Dowd. "Possibly you will do. At any rate, I must tellthis to someone. "

"I know, " says I. "I've seen 'em like that. Shoot. "

"As you are probably aware, " says he, "Ellins was in Florida with melast month. In fact, we played the same course together, day in and dayout, for four weeks. He was my partner in our foursome. Rather a helpfulpartner at times, I must admit, although he hasn't been at the game longenough to be a really experienced golfer. Fairly long off the tee, buterratic with the brassie, and not all dependable when it came to shortiron work. However, as a rule we held them. Our opponents, I mean. "

I nods like I'd taken it all in. 

"A quartette of bogey hounds, I expect, " says I. 

Dowd shakes his head modest. No, he confesses that wasn't an exactdescription of their ratin'. "We usually qualified, when we got in atall, " says he, "in the fourth flight for the Seniors' tournament. But asa rule we did not attempt the general competitions. We stuck to ourdaily foursome. Staples and Rutter were the other two. Rutter's insteel, you know; Staples in copper. Seasoned golfers, both of them. Especially Rutter. Claims to have turned in a card of 89 once at ShortHills. That was years ago, of course, but he has never forgotten it. Rather an irritating opponent, Rutter. Patronizing. Fond of telling youwhat you did when you've dubbed a shot. And if he happens to win--" Dowdshrugs his shoulders expressive. 

"Chesty, eh?" says I. 

"Extremely so, " says Dowd. "Even though his own medal score wasn'tbetter than 115. Mine was a little worse, particularly when I chanced tobe off my drive. Yes, might as well be honest. I was the lame duck ofthe foursome. They usually gave my ball about four strokes. Thought theycould do it, anyway. And I accepted. "

"Uh-huh, " says I, grinnin' intelligent--I hope. I sure was gettin' anearful of this golf stuff, but I was still awake. 

Dowd goes on to tell how reg'lar the old foursome got under way everyafternoon at 2:30. That is, every day but Sunday. 

"Oh, yes, " says I. "Church?"

"No, " says Dowd. "Sandy the Great. "

"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. 

"Meaning, " says Dowd, "Alexander McQuade, to my mind the best all aroundgolf professional who ever came out of Scotland. He was at ourAgapoosett course in summer, you know, and down there in the winter. AndSunday afternoons he always played an exhibition match with visitingpro's, or some of the crack amateurs. I never missed joining the galleryfor those matches. I was following the day he broke the course recordwith a 69. Just one perfect shot after another. It was an inspiration. Always was to watch Sandy the Great play. Such a genial, democraticfellow, too. Why, he has actually talked to me on the tee just beforetaking his stand for one of those 275-yard drives of his. 'Watch thisone, me laddie buck, ' he'd say, or 'Weel, mon, stand a bit back while Igie th' gutty a fair cr-r-rack. ' He was always like that with me. Do youwonder that I bought all my clubs of him, had a collection of his bestscores, and kept a large 'photo of him in my room? I've never been muchof a hero worshiper, but when it came to Sandy the Great--well, thatwas different. You've heard of him, of course?"

"I expect I have, " says I, "but just how does he fit into this--"

"I am coming to that, " says Dowd. "It was a remarkable experience. Weird, you might say. You see, it was the last day of our stay inFlorida; our last foursome of the season. We had been losing steadilyfor several days, Ellins and I. Not that the stakes were high. Trivial. Dollar Nassau, with side bets. I'd been off my drive again and Ellinshad been putting atrociously. Anyway, we had settled regularly. 

"And Rutter had been particularly obnoxious in his manner. Offered toincrease my handicap to five bisque, advised me to get my wrists intothe stroke and keep my body out. That sort of thing. And from a man wholunges at every shot and makes a 75-yard approach with a brassie--Well, it was nothing short of maddening. I kept my temper, though. Can't saythat my friend Ellins did. He had sliced into a trap on his drive, whileI had topped mine short. We started the first hole with our heads down. Rutter and Staples were a trifle ostentatious with their cheerfulness. 

"I will admit that I played the first four holes very badly. A ten onthe long third. Wretched golf, even for a duffer. Ellins managed to holdlow ball on the short fourth, but we were seven points down. I couldhave bitten a piece out of my niblick. Perhaps you don't know, youngman, but there is no deeper humiliation than that which comes to a dubgolfer who is playing his worst. I was in the depths. 

"At the fifth tee I was last up. I'd begun waggling as usual, bodyswaying, shoulders rigid, muscles tense, dreading to swing and wonderingwhether the result would be a schlaff or a top, when--well, I simplycannot describe the sensation. Something came over me; I don't knowwhat. As if someone had waved a magic wand above my head. I stoppedswaying, relaxed, felt the weight of the club head in my fingers, knewthe rhythm of the swing, heard the sharp crack as the ivory facing metthe ball. If you'll believe it, I put out such a drive as I'd neverbefore made in all my 12 years of golf. Straight and clean and true pastthe direction flag and on and on. 

"The others didn't seem to notice. Rutter had hooked into the scrubpalmettos, Staples had sliced into a pit, Ellins had topped shortsomewhere in the rough. I waited until they were all out on the fairway. Some had played three, some four shots. 'How many do you lie?' askedRutter. I told him that was my drive. He just stared skeptical. I couldscarcely blame him. As a rule I need a fair drive and two screamingbrassies on this long fifth before I am in position to approach acrossthe ravine. But this time, with a carry of some 160 yards ahead of me, Ipicked my mid-iron from the bag, took a three-quarter swing, bit asmall divot from the turf as I went through, and landed the ball fairlyon the green with a back-spin that held it as though I'd had a stringtied to it. And when the others had climbed out of the ravine orotherwise reached the green I putted in my four. A par four, mind you, on a 420-yard hole that I'd never had better than a lucky 5 on, andusually a 7 or an 8!

"Rutter asked me to count my strokes for him and then had the insolenceto ask how I got that way. I couldn't tell him. I did feel queer. As ifI was in some sort of trance. But my next drive was even better. Ascreamer with a slight hook on the end that gave the ball an added roll. For my second I played a jigger to the green. Another par four. Rutterhadn't a word to say. 

"Well, that's the way it went. Never had any one in our foursome playedsuch golf as I did for nine consecutive holes. Nothing over 5 and onebirdie 3. I think that Staples and Rutter were too stunned to make anycomment. As for Ellins, he failed to appreciate what I was doing. Somewhat self-centered, Ellins. He's always counting his own score andseldom notices what others are making. 

"Not until we had finished the 12th, which I won with an easy 3, didStaples, who was keeping score, seem to realize what had happened. 'Hello!' he calls to Rutter. 'They've got us beaten. ' 'No, ' says Rutter. 'Can't be possible!' 'But we are, 'insists Staples. 'Thirteen pointsdown and twelve to go. It's all over. Dowd, here, is playing like acrazy man. '

"And then the spell, or whatever it was, broke. I flubbed my drive, smothered my brassie shot, and heeled my third into the woods. Ifinished the round in my usual style, mostly sevens and eights. Butthere was the score to prove that for nine straight holes I had playedpar golf; professional golf, if you please. Do you think either Rutteror Staples gave me credit for that? No. They paid up and walked off tothe shower baths. 

"I couldn't account for my performance. It was little short of amiracle. Actually it was so unusual that I hardly felt like talkingabout it. I know that may sound improbable to a golfer, but it is afact. Except that I did want to tell Alexander McQuade. But I couldn'tfind him. They said at the shop he was laid up with a cold and hadn'tbeen around for several days. So I took the train north that nightwithout having said a word to a soul about those wonderful nine holes. But I've thought a lot about 'em since. I've tried to figure out justwhat happened to me that I could make such a record. No use. It was allbeginning to be as unreal as if it was something I had dreamed of doing. 

"And then yesterday, while reading a recent golf magazine, I ran acrossthis item of news which gave me such a shock. It told of the suddendeath from pneumonia of Alexander McQuade. At first I was simplygrieved over this loss to myself and to the golfing profession ingeneral. Then I noticed the date. McQuade died the very morning of theday of our last match. Do you see?"

I shook my head. All I could see was a moonfaced, owl-eyed old party whowas starin' at me with an eager, batty look. "No, " says I. "I don't getthe connection. McQuade had checked out and you won your foursome. "

"Precisely, " says Dowd. "The mantle of Elijah. "

"Who?" says I. 

"To make it plainer, " says Dowd, "the mantle of Sandy the Great. It fellon my shoulders. "

"That may be clear enough to you, Mr. Dowd, " says I, "but I'll have topass it up. "

He sighs disappointed. "I wish Ellins would have the patience to let metell him about it myself, " says he. "He'll not, though, so I must makeyou understand in order that you may give him the facts. I want him toknow. Of course, I can't pretend to explain the thing. It was psychic, that's all; supernatural, if you please. Must have been. For there Iwas, a confirmed duffer, playing that course exactly as AlexanderMcQuade would have played it had he been in my shoes. And he was, forthe time being. At least, I claim that I was being controlled, orwhatever you want to call it, by the recently departed spirit of Sandythe Great. "

I expect I was gawpin' at him with a full open-face expression. Say, Ithought I'd heard these golf nuts ravin' before, but I'd never been upagainst anything quite like this. Honest, it gave me a creepy feelin'along the spine. And yet, come to look him over close, he's just awide-beamed old party with bags under his eyes and heavy common-placefeatures. 

"You grasp the idea now, don't you?" he asks. 

"I think so, " says I. "Ghost stuff, eh?"

"I'm merely suggesting that as the only explanation which occurs to me, "says he. "I would like to have it put before Ellins and get his opinion. That is, if you think you can make it clear. "

"I'll make a stab at it, Mr. Dowd, " says I. 

And of course I did, though Old Hickory aint such an easy listener. Hecomes in with snorts and grunts all through the tale, and when Ifinishes he simply shrugs his shoulders. 

"There's a warning for you, young man, " says he. "Keep away from thefool game. Anyway, if you ever do play, don't let it get to be a diseasewith you. Look at Dowd. Five years ago he was a sane, normal person; thebest iron ore expert in the country. He could sniff a handful of redearth and tell you how much it would run to a ton within a dime's worth. Knew the game from A to Izzard--deep mining, open pit, low gradewashing, transportation, smelting. He lived with it. Never happier thanwhen he was in his mining rig following a chief engineer through newcross-cuts on the twenty-sixth level trying to locate a fault in thedeposit or testing some modern method of hoisting. Those were things heunderstood. Then he retired. Said he'd made money enough. And now lookat him. Getting cracked over a sport that must have been invented bysome Scotchman who had a grudge against the whole human race. As thoughany game could be a substitute for business. Bah!"

"Then you don't think, Mr. Ellins, " says I, "that we ought to have theboy page Sir Oliver Lodge?"

"Eh?" says he. 

"I mean, " says I, "that you don't take any stock in that mantle of Sandythe Great yarn?"

"Tommyrot!" says he. "For once in his life the old fool played his headoff, that's all. Nine holes in par. Huh! I'm liable to do that myselfone of these days, and without the aid of any departed spirits. Yes, sir. The fact is, Torchy, I am practicing a new swing that ought to haveme playing in the low 90's before the middle of the next season. Yousee, it all depends on taking an open stance and keeping a stiff rightknee. Here' pass me that umbrella and I'll show you. "

And for the next ten minutes he kept a bank president, two directors anda general manager waiting while he swats a ball of paper around theprivate office with me for an audience. Uh-huh. And being a high aceprivate sec. I aint even supposed to grin. Say, why don't some geniusget up an anti-golf serum so that when one of these old plutes foundhimself slippin' he could rush to a clinic and get a shot in the arm?

CHAPTER XIV

TORCHY SHUNTS A WIZARD

I'd hardly noticed when Mr. Robert blew in late from lunch until I hearshim chuckle. Then I glances over my shoulder and sees that he's lookin'my way. Course, that gets me curious, for Mr. Robert ain't the kind ofboss that goes around chucklin' casual, 'specially at a busy privatesec. 

"Yes, sir?" says I, shoving back a tray full of correspondence I'msortin'. 

"I heard something rather good, at luncheon, Torchy, " says he. 

"On red hair, I expect, " says I. 

"It wasn't quite so personal as that, " says he. "Still, I think you'llbe interested. "

"It's part of my job to look so, anyway, " says I, givin' him the grin. 

"And another item on which you specialize, I believe, " he goes on, "isthe detection of book agents. At least, you used to do so when you werehead office boy. Held a record, didn't you?"

"Oh, I don't know, " says I tryin' to register modesty. "One got past thegate; one in five years. That was durin' my first month. "

"Almost an unblemished career, " says Mr. Robert. "What about yoursuccessor, Vincent?"

"Oh, he's doing fairly well, " says I. "Gets stung now and then. Likelast week when that flossy blonde with the Southern accent had himbuffaloed with a tale about having met dear Mr. Ellins at French Lickand wantin' to show him something she knew he'd be just crazy about. Shedid, too. 'Lordly Homes of England, ' four volumes, full morocco, atfifty a volume. And I must say she was nearly right. He wasn't far frombeing crazy for the next hour or so. Vincent got it, and then I got it, although I was downtown at the time it happened. But I'm coachin'Vincent, and I don't think another one of 'em will get by very soon. "

"You don't eh?" says Mr. Robert, indulgin' in another chuckle. 

Then he spills what he overheard at lunch. Seems he was out with afriend who took him to the Papyrus Club, which is where a lot of theseyoung hicks from the different book publishin' houses get togethernoon-times; not Mr. Harper, or Mr. Scribner, or Mr. Dutton, but theheads of departments, assistant editors, floor salesmen and so on. 

And at the next table to Mr. Robert the guest of honor was a loudtalkin' young gent who'd just come in from a tour of the Middle Westwith a bunch of orders big enough, if you let him tell it, to keep hisfirm's presses on night shifts for a year. He was some hero, I take it, and for the benefit of the rest of the bunch he was sketchin' out hismethods. 

"As I understood the young man, " says Mr. Robert, "his plan was to goafter the big ones; the difficult proposition, men of wealth andprominence whom other agents had either failed to reach or had not daredto approach. 'The bigger the better, ' was his motto, and he referred tohimself, I think, as 'the wizard of the dotted line. '"

"Not what you'd exactly call a shrinkin' violet, eh?" I suggests. 

"Rather a shrieking sunflower, " says Mr. Robert. "And he concluded byannouncing that nothing would suit him better than to be told the nameof the most difficult subject in the metropolitan district--'the hardestnut' was his phrase, I believe. He guaranteed to land the said personwithin a week. In fact, he was willing to bet $100 that he could. "

"Huh, " says I. 

"Precisely the remark of one of his hearers, " says Mr. Robert. "Thewager was promptly made. And who do you suppose, Torchy, was named asthe most aloof and difficult man in New York for a book agent to--"

"Mr. Ellins, " says I. 

Mr. Robert nods. "My respected governor, none other, " says he. "I fancyhe would be rather amused to know that he had achieved such areputation, although he would undoubtedly give you most of the credit. "

"Or the blame, " says I. 

"Yes, " admits Mr. Robert, "if he happened to be in the blaming mood. Anyway, young man, there you have a direct challenge. Within the nextweek the inner sanctum of the Corrugated Trust is to be assailed by onewho claims that he can penetrate the impenetrable, know the unknowable, and unscrew the inscrutable. "

"Well, that's cute of him, " says I. "I'm bettin', though, he never getsto his man. "

"That's the spirit!" says Mr. Robert. "As the French said at Verdun, 'Ils ne passeront pas. ' Eh?"

"Meaning 'No Gangway', I expect!" says I. 

"That's the idea, " says he. 

"But say, Mr. Robert, what's he look like, this king of the dottedline!" says I. 

Mr. Robert shakes his head. "I was sitting back to him, " says he. "Besides, to give you his description would be taking rather an unfairadvantage. That would tend to spoil what now stands as quite a neatsporting proposition. Of course, if you insist--"

"No, " says I. "He don't know me and I don't know him. It's fifty-fifty. Let him come. "

I never have asked any odds of book agents, so why begin now? But, youcan bet I didn't lose any time havin' a heart to heart talk withVincent. 

"Listen, son, " says I, "from this on you want to watch this gate likeyou was a terrier standin' over a rat hole. It's up to you to see thatno stranger gets through, no matter who he says he is; and that goes foranybody, from first cousins of the boss to the Angel Gabriel himself. Also, it includes stray window cleaners, buildin' inspectors and partieswho come to test the burglar alarm system. They might be in disguise. Iftheir faces ain't as familiar to you as the back of your hand give 'emthe sudden snub and tell 'em 'Boom boom, outside!' In case of doubt keep'em there until you can send for me. Do you get it?"

Vincent says he does. "I shouldn't care to let in another book agent, "says he. 

"You might just as well resign your portfolio if you do, " says I. "Remember the callin' down, you got from Old Hickory last week. "

Vincent shudders. "I'll do my best, sir, " says he. 

And he's a thorough goin', conscientious youth. Within the next fewhours I had to rescue one of our directors, our first assistant Westernmanager, and a personal friend of Mr. Robert's, all of whom Vincent hadparked on the bench in the anteroom and was eyein' cold, and suspicious. He even holds up the Greek who came luggin' in the fresh towels, andTony the spring water boy. 

"I feel like old Horatius, " says Vincent. 

"Never met him, " says I, "but whoever he was I'll bet you got himlookin' like one of the seven sleepers. That's the stuff, though. Keepit up. "

I expect I was some wakeful myself, too. I worked with my eyes ready toroll over my shoulder and my right ear stretched. I was playin' the partof right worthy inside guard, and nobody came within ten feet of theprivate office door but what I'd sized 'em up before they could reachthe knob. Still, two whole days passed without any attack on the firstline trenches. The third day Vincent and I had a little skirmish with amild-eyed young gent who claimed he wanted to see Mr. Ellins urgent, buthe turns out to be only a law clerk from the office of our generalsolicitors bringin' up some private papers to be signed. 

Then here Friday--and it was Friday the 13th, too--Vincent comessleuthin' in to my desk and shows me a card. 

"Well, " says I, "who does this H. Munson Schott party say he is?"

"That's just it, " says Vincent. "He doesn't say. But he has a letter ofintroduction to Mr. Ellins from the Belgian Consul General. Rather animportant looking person, too. "

"H-m-m-m!" says I, runnin' my fingers through my red hair thoughtful. 

You see, we'd been figurin' on some big reconstruction contracts withthe Belgian government, and while I hadn't heard how far the deal hadgone, there was a chance that this might be an agent from the royalcommission. 

"If it is, " says I, "we can't afford to treat him rough. Let's see, theHon. Matt. Dowd, the golf addict, is still in the private office givin'Old Hickory another earful about the Scotch plague, ain't he?"

"No, sir, " says Vincent. "Mr. Ellins asked him to wait half an hour orso. He's in the director's room. "

"Maybe I'd better take a look at your Mr. Schott first then, " says I. 

But after I'd gone out and given him the north and south careful I wasright where I started. I didn't quite agree with Vincent that he lookedimportant, but he acted it. He's pacin' up and down outside the brassrail kind of impatient, and as I appears he's just consultin' his watch. A nifty tailored young gent with slick putty-colored hair andMaeterlinck blue eyes. Nothing suspicious in the way of packages abouthim. Not even a pigskin document case or an overcoat with bulgy pockets. He's grippin' a French line steamship pamphlet in one hand, a letter inthe other, and from the crook of his right elbow hangs a heavysilver-mounted walkin' stick. Also he's wearin' gray spats. Nothing bookagenty about any of them signs. 

"Mr. Schott?" says I, springin' my official smile. "To see Mr. Ellins, Iunderstand. I'm his private secretary. Could I--"

"I wish to see Mr. Ellins personally, " breaks in Mr. Schott, wavin' meoff with a yellow-gloved hand. 

"Of course, " says I. "One moment, please. I'll find out if he's in. Andif you have any letters, or anything like that--"

"I prefer to present my credentials in person, " says he. 

"Sorry, " says I. "Rules of the office. Saves time, you know. If youdon't mind--" and I holds out my hand for the letter. 

He gives it up reluctant and I backs out. Another minute and I've shovedin where Old Hickory is chewin' a cigar butt savage while he pencils ajoker clause into a million-dollar contract. 

"Excuse me, sir, " says I, "but you were expectin' a party from theBelgian Commission, were you?"

"No, " snaps Old Hickory. "Nor from the Persian Shah, or the Sultan ofSulu, or the Ahkoond of Swat. All I'm expecting, young man, is a halfhour of comparative peace, and I don't get it. There's Matt. Dowd in thenext room waiting like the Ancient Mariner to grip me by the sleeve andpour out a long tale about what he calls his discovery of psychic golf. Say, son, couldn't you----"

"I've heard it, you know, sir, " says I. 

Old Hickory groans. "That's so, " says he. "Well then, why don't you findme a substitute? Suffering Cicero, has that inventive brain of yoursgone into a coma!"

"Not quite, sir, " says I. "You don't happen to know a Mr. Schott, doyou?"

"Gr-r-r!" says Old Hickory, as gentle as a grizzly with a sore ear. "Getout!"

I took the hint and trickled through the door. I was just framin' upsomething polite to feed Mr. Schott when it strikes me I might take apeek at this little note from the Belgian consul. It wasn't much, merelysuggests that he hopes Mr. Ellins will be interested in what Mr. Schotthas to say. There's the consul general's signature at the bottom, too. Yes. And I was foldin' it up to tuck it back into the envelopewhen--well, that's what comes of my early trainin' on the Sunday editionwhen the proof readers used to work me in now and then to hold copy. It's a funny thing, but I notice that the Consul General doesn't spellhis name when he writes it the way he has it printed at the top of hisletterhead. 

"Might be a slip by the fool engraver, " thinks I. "I'll look it up inthe directory. "

And the directory agreed with the letterhead. 

"Oh, ho!" says I. "Pullin' the old stuff, eh? Easy enough to drop intothe Consul's office and dash off a note to anybody. Say, lemme at thisSchott person. "

No, I didn't call in Pat, the porter, and have him give Mr. Schott aflyin' start down the stairs. No finesse about that. Besides, I needed aparty about his size just then. I steps back into the directors' roomand rouses Mr. Dowd from his trance by tappin' him on the shoulder. 

"Maybe you'd be willin', Mr. Dowd, " says I, "to sketch out some of thatpsychic golf experience of yours to a young gent who claims to besomething of a wizard himself. "

Would he? Say, I had to push him back in the chair to keep him fromfollowin' me right out. 

"Just a minute, " says I, "and I'll bring him in. There's only one thing. He's quite a talker himself. Might want to unload a line of his ownfirst, but after that--"

"Yes, yes, " says Dowd. "I shall be delighted to meet him. "

"It's goin' to be mutual, " says I. 

Why, I kind of enjoyed my little part, which consists in hurryin' out tothe gate with my right forefinger up and a confidential smirk wreathin'my more or less classic features. 

"Right this way, Mr. Schott, " says I. 

He shrugs his shoulders, shoots over a glance of scornful contempt, likea room clerk in a tourist hotel would give to a guest who's payin' only$20 or $30 a day, and shoves past Vincent with his chin up. Judgin' bythe name and complexion and all there must have been a lot of noblePrussian blood in this Schott person, for the Clown Prince himselfcouldn't have done the triumphal entry any better. And I expect I putconsiderable flourish into the business when I announces him to Dowd, omittin' careful to call the Hon. Matt, by name. 

Schott aint wastin' any precious minutes. Before Dowd can say a wordhe's started in on his spiel. As I'm makin' a slow exit I manages to getthe openin' lines. They was good, too. 

"As you may know, " begins Schott, "I represent the InternationalHistorical Committee. Owing to the recent death of prominent members wehave decided to fill those vacancies by appointment and your name hasbeen mentioned as----"

Well, you know how it goes. Only this was smooth stuff. It was a shameto have it all spilled for the benefit of Matthew Dowd, who can onlythink of one thing these days--250-yard tee shots and marvelous mid-ironpokes that always sail toward the pin. Besides, I kind of wanted to seehow a super-book agent would work. 

Openin' the private office door easy I finds Old Hickory has settledback in his swing chair and is lightin' a fresh Fumadora satisfied. So Islips in, salutes respectful and jerks my thumb toward the directors'room. 

"I've put a sub. On the job, sir, " says I. 

"Eh?" says he. "Oh, yes. Who did you find?"

"A suspicious young stranger, " says I. "I sicced him and Mr. Dowd oneach other. They're at it now. It's likely to be entertainin'. "

Old Hickory nods approvin' and a humorous flicker flashes under thembushy eyebrows of his. "Let's hear how they're getting along, " says he. 

So I steps over sleuthy and swings the connectin' door half way open, which not only gives us a good view but brings within hearin' range thisthroaty conversation which Mr. Schott is unreelin' at high speed. 

"You see, sir, " he's sayin', "this monumental work covers all the greatcrises of history, from the tragedy on Calvary to the signing of thepeace treaty at Versailles. Each epoch is handled by an acknowledgedmaster of that period, as you may see by this table of contents. "

Here Mr. Schott produces from somewhere inside his coat a half pound orso of printed pages and shoves them on Dowd. 

"The illustrations, " he goes on, "are all reproduced in colors by ournew process, and are copies of famous paintings by the world's greatestartists. There are to be more than three hundred, but I have here a fewprints of these priceless works of art which will give you an idea. "

At that he reaches into the port side of his coat, unbuttons the lining, and hauls out another sheaf of leaves. 

"Then we are able to offer you, " says Schott, "a choice of bindingswhich includes samples of work from the most skilful artisans in thatline. At tremendous expense we have reproduced twelve celebratedbindings. I have them here. "

And blamed if he don't unscrew the thick walkin' stick and pull out adozen imitation leather bindings which he piles on Mr. Dowd's knee. 

"Here we have, " says he, "the famous Broissard binding, made for thelibrary of Louis XIV. Note the fleur de lis and the bee, and theexquisite hand-tooling on the doublures. Here is one that was done bythe Rivieres of London for the collection of the late Czar Nicholas, andso on. There are to be thirty-six volumes in all and to new members ofthe Historical Committee we are offering these at practically the costof production, which is $28 the volume. In return for this sacrifice allwe ask of you, my dear sir, is that we may use your indorsement in ouradvertising matter, which will soon appear in all the leading dailypapers of this country. We ask you to pay no money down. All you need todo, sir, to become a member of the International Historical Committeeand receive this magnificent addition to your library, is to sign yourname here and----"

"Is--is that all?" breaks in Dowd, openin' his mouth for the first time. 

"Absolutely, " says Schott, unlimberin' his ready fountain pen. 

"Then perhaps you would be interested to hear of a little experience ofmine, " says Dowd, "on the golf course. "

"Charmed, " says Schott. 

He didn't know what was comin'. As a book agent he had quite a flow oflanguage, but I doubt if he ever ran up against a real golf nut before. Inside of half a minute Dowd was off in high gear, tellin' him aboutthat wonderful game he played with Old Hickory when he was under thecontrol of the spirit of the great Sandy McQuade. At first Schott lookskind of dazed, like a kid who's been foolin' with a fire hydrant wrenchand suddenly finds he's turned on the high pressure and can't turn itoff. Three or four times he makes a stab at breakin' in and urgin' thefountain pen on Dowd, but he don't have any success. Dowd is in fullswing, describin' his new theory of how all the great golfers who havepassed on come back and reincarnate themselves once more; sometimespickin' out a promisin' caddie, as in the case of Ouimet, or now andagain a hopeless duffer, same as he was himself. Schott can't get a wordin edgewise, and is squirmin' in his chair while Old Hickory leans backand chuckles. 

Finally, after about half an hour of this, Schott gets desperate. "Yes, sir, " says he, shoutin' above Dowd's monologue, "but what about thismagnificent set of----"

"Bah!" says Dowd. "Books! Never buy 'em. "

"But--but are you sure, sir, " Schott goes on, "that you understand whatan opportunity you are offered for----"

"Wouldn't have the junk about the house, " says Dowd. "But later on, young man, if you are interested in the development of my psychic golf, I shall be glad to tell you----"

"Not if I see you first, " growls Schott, gatherin' up his pile ofsamples and backin out hasty. 

He's in such a hurry to get away that he bumps into Mr. Robert, who'sjust strollin' toward the private office, and the famous bindings, artmasterpieces, contents pages and so on are scattered all over the floor. 

"Who was our young friend with all the literature?" asks Mr. Robert. 

"That's Mr. Schott, " says I, "your wizard of the dotted line, who wasdue to break in on Mr. Ellins and get him to sign up. "

"Eh?" says Old Hickory, starin'. "And you played him off against Matt. Dowd? You impertinent young rascal! But I say, Robert, you should haveseen and heard 'em. It was rich. They nearly talked each other to astandstill. "

"Then I gather, Torchy, " says Mr. Robert, grinnin', "that the king ofbook agents now sits on a tottering throne. In other words, the wizardmet a master mind, eh?"

"I dunno, " says I. "Guess I gave him the shunt, all right. Just by luck, though. He had a clever act, I'll say, even if he didn't get itacross. "

CHAPTER XV

STANLEY TAKES THE JAZZ CURE

I remember how thrilled Vee gets when she first discovers that these newpeople in Honeysuckle Lodge are old friends of hers. I expect somepoetical real estater wished that name on it. Anyway, it's the properthing out here in Harbor Hills to call your place after some sort ofshrubbery or tree. And maybe this little stone cottage effect with thegreen tiled roof and the fieldstone gate posts did have some honeysucklegrowin' around somewhere. It's a nice enough shack, what there is of it, though if I'd been layin' out the floor plan I'd have had less cut-underfront porch and more elbow room inside. However, as there are only twoof the Rawsons it looked like it would do. That is, it did at first. 

"Just think, Torchy, " says Vee. "I haven't seen Marge since we were atboarding school together. Why, I didn't even know she was married, although I suppose she must be by this time. "

"Well, she seems to have found a male of the species without your help, "says I. "Looks like a perfectly good man, too. "

"Oh, I'm sure he must be, " says Vee, "or Marge wouldn't have had him. Infact, I know he is, for I used to hear more or less about StanleyRawson, even when we were juniors. I believe they were half engagedthen. Such a jolly, lively fellow, and so full of fun. Won't it be nicehaving them so near?"

"Uh-huh!" says I. 

Not that we've been lonesome since we moved out on our four-acre LongIsland estate, but I will say that young married couples of about ourown age haven't been so plenty. Not the real folksy kind. Course, thereare the Cecil Rands, but they don't do much but run a day and nightnursery for those twins of theirs. They're reg'lar Class A twins, too, and I expect some day they'll be more or less interestin'; but afterthey've been officially exhibited to you four or five times, and you'veheard all about the system they're being brought up on, and how manyounces of Pasteurized cow extract they sop up a day, and at whattemperature they get it, and how often they take their naps and soon---- Well, sometimes I'm thankful the Rands didn't have triplets. WhenI've worked up enthusiasm for twins about four times, and remarked howcunnin' of them to look so much alike, and confessed that I couldn'ttell which was Cecillia and which Cecil, Jr. , I feel that I've sort ofexhausted the subject. 

So whenever Vee suggests that we really ought to go over and see theRands again I can generally think up an alibi. Honest, I aint jealousof their twins. I'm glad they've got 'em. Considerin' Cecil, Sr. , andall I'll say it was real noble of 'em. But until I can think upsomething new to shoot about twins I'm strong for keepin' away. 

Then there are Mr. And Mrs. Jerry Kipp, but they're ouija board addictsand count it a dull evening when they can't gather a few seriousthinkers around the dinin' room table under a dim light and spell out amessage from Little Bright Wings, who checked out from croup at the ageof six and still wants her Uncle Jerry to know that she thinks of himout there in the great beyond. I wouldn't mind hearin' from the spiritland now and then if the folks there had anything worth sayin', but whenthey confine their chat to fam'ly gossip it seems to me like a waste oftime. Besides, I always come home from the Kipps feelin' creepy down theback. 

So you could hardly blame Vee for welcomin' some new arrivals in theneighborhood, or for bein' so chummy right from the start. She asks theRawsons over for dinner, tips Mrs. Rawson off where she can get awash-lady who'll come in by the day and otherwise extends the glad hand. 

Seems to be a nice enough party, young Mrs. Rawson. Kind of easy to lookat and with an eye twinkle that suggests a disposition to cut upoccasionally. Stanley is a good runnin' mate, so far as looks go. Hecould almost pose for a collar ad, with that straight nose and clean cutchin of his. But he's a bit stiff and stand-offish, at first. 

"Oh, he'll get over that, " says Vee. "You see, he comes from some littleplace down in Georgia where the social set is limited to three familiesand he isn't quite sure whether we know who our grandfathers were. "

"It'll be all off then if he asks about mine, " says I. 

But he don't. He wants to know what I think of the recent slump in Julycotton deliveries and if I believe the foreign credits situation looksany better. 

"Why, I hadn't thought much about either, " says I, "but I've had a goodhunch handed me that the Yanks are goin' to show strong for the pennantthis season. "

Stanley just stares at me and after that confines his remarks to statin'that he don't care for mint sauce on roast lamb and that he never takescoffee at night. 

"Huh!" says I to Vee afterward. "When does he spring that jolly stuff?Or was that conundrum about July cotton a vaudeville gag that got pastme?"

No, I hadn't missed any cues. Vee explains that young Mr. Rawson hasbeen sent up to New York as assistant manager of a Savannah firm ofcotton brokers and is taking his job serious. 

"That's good, " says I, "but he don't need to lug it to the dinner table, does he?"

We gave the Rawsons a week to get settled before droppin' in on 'em foran evenin' call, and I'd prepared for it by readin' up on the cottonmarket. Lucky I did, too, for we discovers Stanley at his desk with agreen eye-shade draped over his classic brow and a lot of crop reportsspread out before him. Durin' the next hour, while the girls werechattin' merry in the other corner of the livin' room, Stanley gave methe straight dope on boll weevils, the labor conditions in Manchester, and the poor prospects for long staple. I finished, as you might say, with both ears full of cotton. 

"Stanley's going to be a great help--I don't think, " says I to Vee. "Why, he's got cotton on the brain. "

"Now let's not be critical, Torchy, " says Vee. "Marge told me all aboutit, how Stanley is a good deal worried over his business and so on. He'sreally doing very well, you know, but he can't seem to leave his officetroubles behind, the way you do. He wants to make a big success, buthe's so afraid something will go wrong----"

"There's no surer way of pullin' down trouble, " says I. "Next thing heknows he'll be tryin' to sell cotton in his sleep, and from that stageto a nerve sanitarium is only a hop. "

Not that I tries to reform Stanley. Nay, nay, Natalia. I may go throughsome foolish motions now and then, but regulatin' the neighbors ain'tone of my secret vices. We allows the Rawsons to map out their ownprogram, which seems to consist in stickin' close to their own fireside, with Marge on one side readin' letters about the gay doin's of her oldfriends at home, and Stanley on the other workin' up furrows in his browover what might not happen to spot cotton day after tomorrow. They'dpassed up a chance to join the Country Club, had declined with thankswhen Vee asked 'em to go in on a series of dinner dances with some ofthe young married set, and had even shied at taking an evening off forone of Mrs. Robert Ellins' musical affairs. 

"Thanks awfully, " says Stanley, "but I have no time for socialfrivolities. "

"Gosh!" says I. "I hope you don't call two hours of Greig frivolous. "

That seems to be his idea, though. Anything that ain't connected withquotations on carload lots or domestic demands for middlings he looks atscornful. He tells me he's on the trail of a big foreign contract, butis afraid its going to get away from him. 

"Maybe you'd linger on for a year or so if it did, " I suggests. 

"Perhaps, " says he, "but I intend to let nothing distract me from mywork. "

And then here a few days later I runs across him making for the 5:03with two giggly young sub-debs in tow. After he's planted 'em in a seatand stowed their hand luggage and wraps on the rack I slips into thevacant space with him behind the pair. 

"Where'd you collect the sweet young things, Stanley?" says I. 

He shakes his head and groans. "Think of it!" says he. "Marge's folkshad to chase off to Bermuda for the Easter holidays and so they wishPolly, the kid sister, onto us for two whole weeks. Not only that, butPolly has the nerve to bring along this Dot person, her roommate atboarding school. What on earth we're ever going to do with them I'm sureI don't know. "

"Is Polly the one with the pointed chin and the I-dare-you pout?" Iasks. 

"No, that's Dot, " says he. "Polly's the one with the cheek dimples andthe disturbing eyes. She's a case, too. "

"They both look like they might be live wires, " says I. "I see they'vebrought their mandolins, also. And what's so precious in the bundle youhave on your knees?"

"Jazz records, " says Stanley. "I've a mind to shove them under the seatand forget they're there. "

He don't though, for that's the only bundle Polly asks about when weunload at our home station. I left Stanley negotiatin' with theexpressman to deliver two wardrobe trunks and went along chucklin' tomyself. 

"My guess is that Dot and Polly are in for kind of a pokey vacation, " Itells Vee. "Unless they can get as excited over the cotton market asStanley does. "

"The poor youngsters!" says Vee. "They might as well be visiting on adesert island, for Marge knows hardly anyone in the place but us. "

She's a great one for spillin' sympathy, and for followin' it up whenshe can with the helpin' hand. So a couple of nights later I'm draggedout on a little missionary expedition over to Honeysuckle Lodge, theobject being to bring a little cheer into the dull gray lives of theRawsons' young visitors. Vee makes me doll up in an open face vest anddinner coat, too. 

"The girls will like it, I'm sure, " says she. 

"Very well, " says I. "If the sight of me in a back number Tuck will liftthe gloom from any young hearts, here goes. I hope the excitement don'tprove too much for 'em, though. "

I'd kind of doped it out that we'd find the girls sittin' around awedand hushed; while Stanley indulged in his usual silent struggle withsome great business problem; or maybe they'd be over in a far corneryawnin' through a game of Lotto. But you never can tell. From two blocksaway we could see that the house was all lit up, from cellar to sleepin'porch. 

"Huh!" says I. "Stanley must be huntin' a burglar, or something. "

"No, " says Vee. "Hear the music. If I didn't know I should think theywere giving a party. "

"Who would they give it to?" I asks. 

And yet when the maid lets us in hanged if the place ain't full ofpeople, mostly young hicks in evenin' clothes, but with a fair sprinklin'of girls in flossy party dresses. All the livin' room furniture had beenshoved into the dinin' room, the rugs rolled into the corners, and themusic machine is grindin' out the Blitzen Blues, accompanied by the twomandolins. 

In the midst of all this merry scene I finds Stanley wanderin' aboutsort of dazed and unhappy. 

"Excuse us for crashin' in on a party, " says I. "We came over with theidea that maybe Polly and Dot would be kind of lonesome. "

"Lonesome!" says Stanley. "Say, I ask you, do they look it?"

"Not at the present writing, " says I. 

That was statin' the case mild, too. Over by the music machine Dot and ayouth who's sportin' his first aviation mustache--one of them clippedeyebrow affairs--are tinklin' away on the mandolins with their headsclose together, while in the middle of the floor Polly and a blond younggent who seems to be fairly well contented with himslf are practicin'some new foxtrot steps, with two other youngsters waitin' to cut in. 

"Where did you round up all the perfectly good men?" I asks. 

"I didn't, " says Stanley. "That's what amazes me. Where did they allcome from? Why, I supposed the girls didn't know a soul in the place. Said they didn't on the way out. Yet before we'd left the station twoyouths appeared who claimed they'd met Polly somewhere and asked if theycouldn't come up that evening. The next morning they brought around twoothers, and some girls, for a motor trip. By afternoon the crowd hadincreased to a dozen, and they were all calling each other by theirfirst names and speaking of the aggregation as 'the bunch. ' I came hometonight to find a dinner party of six and this dance scheduled. Now tellme, how do they do it?"

"It's by me, " says I. "But maybe this kid sister-in-law of yours and herchum are the kind who don't have to send out S. O. S. Signals. And ifthis keeps up I judge you're let in for a merry two weeks. "

"Merry!" says Stanley. "I should hardly call it that. How am I going tothink in a bedlam like this?"

"Must you think?" says I. 

"Of course, " says he. "But if this keeps up we shall go crazy. "

"Oh, I don't know, " says I. "You may, but I judge that Mrs. Rawson willsurvive. She seems to be endurin' it all right, " and I glances overwhere Marge is allowin' a youngster of 19 or so to lead her out for thenext dance. 

"Oh, Marge!" says Stanley. "She's always game for anything. But shehasn't the business worries and responsibilities that I have. Do youknow, Torchy, the cotton situation is about to reach a crisis and if Icannot put through a----"

"Come on, Torchy, " breaks in Vee. "Let's try this one. "

"Sure!" says I. "Although I'm missin' some mighty thrillin' informationabout what's going to happen to cotton. "

"Oh, bother cotton!" says Vee. "It would do Stanley good to forget abouthis silly old business for a little while. Look at him! Why, you wouldthing he was a funeral. "

"Or that he was just reportin' as chairman of the grand jury, " says I. 

"And little Polly is having such a good time, isn't she?" goes on Vee. 

"I expect she is, " says I. "She's goin' through the motions, anyway. "

Couldn't have been more than 16 or so, Polly. But she has a face like aflower, the disposition of a butterfly, and a pair of eyes thatshouldn't be used away from home without dimmers on. I expect she don'tknow how high voltage they are or she wouldn't roll 'em around soreckless. It's entertainin' just to sit on the side lines and watch herpull this baby-vamp act of hers and then see the victims squirm. Say, atthe end of a dance some of them youths didn't know whether they wasleadin' Polly to a corner or walkin' over a pink cloud with snowshoeson. And friend Dot ain't such a poor performer herself. Her strong lineseems to be to listen to 'em patient while they tells her all they know, and remark enthusiastic at intervals: "Oh, I think that's simp-lywon-n-n-nderful!" After they'd hear her say it about five times most of'em seemed to agree with her that they were wonderful, and I heard oneyoung hick confide to another: "She's a good pal, Dot. Understands afellow, y'know. "

Honest, I was havin' so much fun minglin' with the younger set that way, and gettin' my dancin' toes limbered up once more, that it's quite ashock to glance at the livin' room clock and find it pointin' to 1:30. As we were leavin', though, friend Dot has just persuaded Stanley to trya one-step with her and I had to snicker when he goes whirlin' off. Iexpect either she or Polly had figured out that the only way to keep himfrom turnin' off the lights was to get him into the game. 

From all the reports we had Polly and Dot got through their vacationwithout being very lonesome. Somehow or other Honeysuckle Lodge seems tohave been established as the permanent headquarters of "the bunch, " andmost any time of day or night you could hear jazz tunes comin' fromthere, or see two or three cars parked outside. And, although the cottonmarket was doing flip-flops about that time I don't see any signs ofnervous breakdown about Stanley. In fact, he seems to have bucked up alot. 

"Well, how about that foreign contract?" I asks reckless one mornin' aswe meets on the train. 

"Oh, I have that all sewed up, " says Stanley. "One of those young chapswho came to see Polly so much gave me a straight tip on who tosee--someone who had visited at his home. Odd way to get it, eh? But Igot a lot out of those boys. Rather miss them, you know. "

"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at him. 

"Been brushing up on my dancing, too, " goes on Stanley. "And say, ifthere's still a vacancy in that dinner dance club I think Marge and Iwould like to go in. "

"But I thought you said you didn't dance any more?" says I. 

"I didn't think I could, " says Stanley, "until Dot got me at it againthe other night. Why, do you know, she quite encouraged me. Shesaid----"

"Uh-huh!" says I. "I know. She said, 'Oh, I think you're a wonderfuldancer, simp-ly won-n-n-n-derful!' Didn't she now?"

First off Stanley stiffens up like he was goin' to be peeved. But thenhe remembers and lets out chuckle. "Yes, " says he, "I believe those wereher exact words. Perhaps she was right, too. And if I have such anunsuspected talent as that shouldn't I exercise it occasionally? I leaveit to you. "

"You've said it, Stanley, " says I. "And after all, I guess you're goin'to be a help. You had a narrow call, though. "

"From what?" asks Stanley. 

"Premature old age, " says I, givin' him the friendly grin. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE MYSTERY OF THE THIRTY-ONE

If I knew how, you ought to be worked up to the proper pitch for thisscene. You know--lights dimmed, throbby music from the bull fiddle andkettle drums, and the ushers seatin' nobody durin' the act. Belascostuff. The stage showin' the private office of the Corrugated Trust. It's a case of the big four in solemn conclave. 

Maybe you can guess the other three. Uh-huh! Old Hickory Ellins, Mr. Robert, and Piddie. I forget just what important problem we wassettlin'. But it must have been something weighty and serious. Millionsat stake, most likely. Thousands anyway. Or it might have been when weshould start the Saturday half-holidays. 

All I remember is that we was grouped around the big mahogany desk; OldHickory in the middle chewin' away at the last three inches of aCassadora; Mr. Robert at right center, studyin' the documents in thecase; Piddie standin' respectful at his side weavin' his fingers in andout nervous; and me balanced on the edge of the desk at the left, oneshoe toe on the floor, the other foot wavin' easy and graceful. Cooland calm, that's me. But not sayin' a word. Nobody was. We'd had ourturn. It was up to Old Hickory to give the final decision. We waswaitin', almost breathless. He'd let out a grunt or two, cleared histhroat, and was about to open in his usual style when--

Cr-r-rash! Bumpety-bump!

Not that this describes it adequate. If I had a mouth that could imitatethe smashin' of a 4x6 foot plate glass window I'd be on my way out tostampede the national convention for some favorite son. For that'sexactly what happens. One of them big panes through which Old Hickorycan view the whole southern half of Manhattan Island, not to mentionpart of New Jersey, has been shattered as neat as if someone had throwna hammer through it. And havin' that occur not more'n ten feet from yourright ear is some test of nerves, I'll say. I didn't even fall off thedesk. All Old Hickory does is set his teeth into the cigar a littlefirmer and roll his eyes over one shoulder. Piddie's the only one whoshows signs of shell shock. When he finally lets out a breath it's likeopenin' a bottle of home brew to see if the yeast cake is gettin' in itswork. 

The bumpety-bump noise comes from something white that follows the crashand rolls along the floor toward the desk. Naturally I makes a grab forit. 

"Don't!" gasps Piddie. "It--it might be a bomb. "

"Yes, " says I, "it might. But it looks to me more like a golf ball. "

"What?" says Old Hickory. "Golf ball! How could it be?"

"I don't know, sir, " says I, modest as usual. 

"Let's see, " says he. I hands it over. He takes a glance at it andsnorts out: "Impossible, but quite true. It is a golf ball. A Spalldop31. "

"You're right, Governor, " says Mr. Robert. "That's just what it is. "

Piddie takes a cautious squint and nods his head. So we made itunanimous. 

"But I don't quite see, sir, " goes on Piddie, "how a----"

"Don't you?" breaks in Old Hickory. "Well, that's strange. Neither doI. "

"Might it not, sir, " adds Piddie, "have been dropped from an airplane?"

"Dropped how?" demands Old Hickory. "Sideways? The law of gravitydoesn't work that way. At least, it didn't when I met it last. "

"Certainly!" says Piddie. "I had not thought of that. It couldn't havebeen dropped. Then it must have been driven by some careless golfer. "

He's some grand little suggester, Piddie is. Old Hickory glares at himand snorts. "An amazingly careless golfer, " he adds, "considering thatthe nearest course is in Englewood, N. J. , fully six miles away. No, Mr. Piddie, I fear that even Jim Barnes at his best, relayed by Gil Nicholsand Walter Hagen, couldn't have made that drive. "

"They--they never use a--a rifle for such purposes, do they?" asksPiddie. 

"Not in the best sporting circles, " says Old Hickory. 

"I suppose, " puts in Mr. Robert, "that some golf enthusiast might havetaken it into his head to practice a shot from somewhere in theneighborhood. "

"That's logical, " admits Old Hickory, "but from where did he shoot? Weare nineteen stories above the sidewalk, remember. I never saw a playerwho could loft a ball to that height. "

Which gives me an idea. "What if it was some golf nut who'd gone out ona roof?" I asks. 

"Thank you, Torchy, " says Old Hickory. "From a roof, of course. I shouldhave made that deduction myself within the next half hour. The fellowmust be swinging away on the top of some nearby building. Let's see ifwe can locate him. "

Nobody could, though. Plenty of roofs in sight, from five to ten storieslower than the Corrugated buildin', but no mashie maniac in evidence. And while they're scoutin' around I takes another squint at the ball. 

"Say, Mr. Ellins, " I calls out, "if it was shot from a roof how do youdope out this grass stain on it?"

"Eh?" says Old Hickory. "Grass stain! Must be an old one. No, by thegreen turban of Hafiz, it's perfectly fresh! Even a bit of moist earthwhere the fellow took a divot. Young man, that knocks out your roofpractice theory. Now how in the name of the Secret Seven could thishappen? The nearest turf is in the park, across Broadway. But no golferwould be reckless enough to try out a shot from there. Besides, thiscame from a southerly direction. Well, son, what have you to offer?"

"Me?" says I, stallin' around a bit and lookin' surprised. "Oh, Ididn't know I'd been assigned to the case of the mysterious golf ball. "

"You have, " says Old Hickory. "You seem to be so clever in deducingthings and the rest of us so stupid. Here take another look at the ball. I presume that if you had a magnifying glass you could tell where itcame from and what the man looked like who hit it. Eh?"

"Oh, sure!" says I, grinnin'. "That is, in an hour or so. "

That's the only way to get along with Old Hickory; when he startskiddin' you shoot the josh right back at him. I lets on to be examinin'the ball careful. 

"I expect you didn't notice the marks on it?" says I. 

"Where?" says he, gettin' out his glasses. "Oh, yes! The fellow hasused an indelible pencil to put his initials on it. I often do thatmyself, so the caddies can't sell me my own balls. He's made 'em ratherfaint, but I can make out the letters. H. A. And to be sure, he's put'em on twice. "

"Yes, " says I, "they might be initials, and then again they might bemeant to spell out something. My guess would be 'Ha, ha!'"

"What!" says Old Hickory. "By the Sizzling Sisters, you're right! Amessage! But from whom?"

"Why not from Minnie?" I asks winkin' at Mr. Robert. 

"Minnie who?" demands Old Hickory. 

"Why, from Minnehaha?" says I, and I can hear Piddie gasp at my pullin'anything like that on the president of the Corrugated Trust. 

Old Hickory must have heard him, too, for he shrugs his shoulders andremarks to Piddie solemn: "Even brilliant intellects have their dullspots, you see. But wait. Presently this spasm of third rate comedy willpass and he will evolve some apt conclusion. He will tell us who sent mea Ha, ha! message on a golf ball, and why. Eh, Torchy?"

"Guess I'll have to sir, " says I. "How much time off do I get, a coupleof hours?"

"The whole afternoon, if you'll solve the mystery, " says he. "I am goingout to luncheon now. When I come back----"

"That ought to be time enough, " says I. 

Course nine-tenths of that was pure bluff. All I had mapped out then wasjust a hunch for startin' to work. When they'd all left the privateoffice I wanders over for another look from the punctured window. Thelower sash had been pushed half-way up when the golf ball hit it, and theshade had been pulled about two-thirds down. It was while I was runnin'the shade clear to the top that I discovers this square of red cardboardhung in the middle of the top sash. 

"Hah!" says I. "Had the window marked, did he?"

Simple enough to see that a trick of that kind called for an insideconfederate. Who? Next minute I'm dashin' out to catch Tony, who runsexpress elevator No. 3. 

"Were the window washers at work on our floor this mornin'?" says I. 

"Sure!" says Tony, "What you miss?"

"It was a case of direct hit, " says I. "Where are they now?"

"On twenty-two, " says Tony. 

"I'll ride up with you, " says I. 

And three minutes later I've corralled a Greek glass polisher who'seatin' his bread and sausage at the end of one of the corridors. 

"You lobster!" says I. "Why didn't you hang that blue card in the rightwindow?"

"Red card!" he protests, sputterin' crumbs. "I hang him right, me. "

"Oh, very well, " says I, displayin' half a dollar temptin'. "Then yougot some more comin' to you, haven't you?"

He nods eager and holds out his hand. 

"Just a minute, " says I, "until I'm sure you're the right one. What wasthe party's name who gave you the job?"

"No can say him name, " says the Greek. "He just tell me hang card andgive me dollar. "

"I see, " says I. "A tall, thin man with red whiskers, eh?"

"No, no!" says he. "Short thick ol' guy, fat in middle, no whiskers. "

"Correct so far, " says I. "And if you can tell where he hangs out----"

"That's all, " says the Greek. "Gimme half dollar. "

"You win, " says I, tossin' it to him. 

But that's makin' fair progress for the first five minutes, eh? So far Iknew that a smooth faced, poddy party had shot a golf ball with "Ha, ha!" written on it into Old Hickory's private office. Must have beendone deliberate, too, for he'd taken pains to have the window markedplain for him with the red card. And at that it was some shot, I'll say. Couldn't have come from the street, on account of the distance. Thenthere was the grass stain. Grass? Now where----

By this time I'm leanin' out over the sill down at the roofs of theadjoinin' buildings. And after I'd stretched my neck for a while Ihappens to look directly underneath. There it was. Uh-huh. A littlegreen square of lawn alongside the janitor's roof quarters. You knowyou'll find 'em here and there on office building roofs, even down inWall Street. And this being right next door and six or seven storiesbelow had been so close that we'd overlooked it at first. 

So now I knew what he looked like, and where he stood. But who was he, and what was the grand idea? It don't take me long to chase down to theground floor and into the next building. And, of course, I tackles theelevator starter. They're the wise boys. Always. I don't know why it is, but you'll generally find that the most important lookin' and actin'bird around a big buildin' is the starter. And what he don't know aboutthe tenants and their business ain't worth findin' out. 

On my way through the arcade I'd stopped at the cigar counter andinvested in a couple of Fumadoras with fancy bands on 'em. Tuckin' thesmokes casual into the starter's outside coat pocket I establishesfriendly relations almost from the start. 

"Well, son, " says he, "is it the natural blond on the seventh, or thebrunette vamp who pounds keys on the third that you want to meet?"

"Ah, come, Captain!" says I. "Do I look like a Gladys-hound? Nay, nay!I'm simply takin' a sport census. "

"Eh!" says he. "That's a new one on me. "

"Got any golf bugs in your buildin', Cap?" I goes on. 

"Any?" says he. "Nothing but. Say, you'll see more shiny hardware luggedout of here on a Saturday than----"

"But did you notice any being lugged in today?" I breaks in. 

"No, " says he. "It's a little early for 'em to start the season, and toonear the first of the week. Don't remember a single bag goin' in today. "

"Nor a club, either?" I asks. 

He takes off his cap and rubs his right ear. Seems to help, too. "Oh, yes, " says he. "I remember now. There was an old boy carried one inalong about 10 o'clock. A new one that he'd just bought, I expect. "

"Sort of a poddy, heavy set old party with a smooth face?" I suggests. 

"That was him, " says the starter. "He's a reg'lar fiend at it. But, then, he can afford to be. Owns a half interest in the buildin', Iunderstand. "

"Must be on good terms with the janitor, then, " says I. "He couldpractice swings on the roof if he felt like it, I expect. "

"You've said it, " says the starter. "He could do about what he likesaround this buildin', Mr. Dowd could. "

"Eh?" says I. "The Hon. Matt?"

"Good guess!" says the starter. "You must know him. "

"Rather, " says I. "Him and my boss are old chums. Golf cronies, too. Thanks. I guess that'll be all. "

"But how about that sport census?" asks the starter. 

"It's finished, " says I, makin' a quick exit. 

And by the time I'm back in the private office once more I've untangledall the essential points. Why, it was only two or three days ago thatthe Hon. Matt broke in on Old Hickory and gave him an earful about hislatest discovery in the golf line. I'd heard part of it, too, while Iwas stickin' around waitin' to edge in with some papers for Mr. Ellinsto sign. 

Now what was the big argument? Say, I'll be driven to take up thisHoot-Mon pastime myself some of these days. Got to if I want to keep inthe swim. It was about some particular club Dowd claimed he had justlearned how to play. A mashie-niblick, that was it. Said it was revealedto him in a dream--something about gripping with the left hand so theknuckles showed on top, and taking the turf after he'd hit the ball. That gave him a wonderful loft and a back-spin. 

And I remember how Old Hickory, who was more or less busy at the time, had tried to shunt him off. "Go on, you old fossil, " he told him. "Younever could play a mashie-niblick, and I'll bet twenty-five you can'tnow. You always top 'em. Couldn't loft over a bow-legged turtle, muchless a six foot bunker. Yes, it's a bet. Twenty-five even. But you'llhave to prove it, Matt. "

And Mr. Dowd, chucklin' easy to himself, had allowed how he would. "Toyour complete satisfaction, Ellins, " says he, "or no money passes. Andwithin the week. "

As I takes another look down at the little grass plot on the roof I hasto admit that the Hon. Matt knew what he was talkin' about. He sure hadturned the trick. Kind of clever of him, too, havin' the window markedand all that. And puttin' the "Ha, ha!" message on the ball. 

I was still over by the window, sort of smilin' to myself, when OldHickory walks in, havin' concluded to absorb only a sandwich and a glassof milk at the arcade cafeteria instead of goin' to his club. 

"Well, young man, " says he. "Have you any more wise deductions tosubmit?"

"I've got all the dope, if that's what you mean, sir, " says I. 

"Eh?" says he. "Not who and what and why?"

I nods easy. 

"I don't believe it, son, " says he. "It's uncanny. To begin with, whowas the man?"

"Don't you remember havin' a debate not long ago with someone whoclaimed he could pull some wonderful stunt with a mashie-niblick?" saysI. 

"Why, " says Old Hickory, "with no one but Dowd. "

"You bet him he couldn't, didn't you?" I asks. 

"Certainly, " says he. 

"Well, he can, " says I. "And he has. "

"Wha-a-at!" gasps Old Hickory. 

"Uh-huh!" says I. "It was him that shot in the ball with the Ha, ha!message on it. "

"But--but from where?" he demands. 

"Look!" says I, leadin' him to the window. 

"The old sinner!" says Mr. Ellins. "Why, that must be nearly one hundredfeet, and almost straight up! Some shot! I didn't think it was in him. Hagen could do no better. And think of putting it through a window. That's accuracy for you. Say, if he can do that in a game I shall beproud to know him. Anyway, I shall not regret handing over thattwenty-five. "

"It'll cost him nearly that to set another pane of plate glass, " Isuggests. 

"No, Torchy, no, " says Old Hickory, wavin' his hand. "Any person who canshow such marksmanship with a golf ball is quite welcome to---- Ah, justanswer that 'phone call, will you, son?"

So I steps over and takes down the receiver. "It's the buildin'superintendent, " says I "He wants to speak to you, sir. "

"See what he wants, " says Old Hickory

And I expect I was grinnin' some when I turns around after gettin' themessage. "He says somebody has been shootin' golf balls at the southside of the buildin' all the forenoon, " says I, "and that seventeenpanes of glass have, been smashed. He wants to know what he shall do. "

"Do?" says Old Hickory. "Tell him to send for a glazier. "

CHAPTER XVII

NO LUCK WITH AUNTIE

Well, I expect I've gone and done it again. Queered myself with Auntie. Vee's, of course. You'd most think I'd know how to handle the old girlby this time, for we've been rubbin' elbows, as you might say, for quitea few years now. But somehow we seldom hit it off just right. 

Not that I don't try. Say, one of the big ambitions of my young life hasbeen to do something that would please Auntie so much that no matterwhat breaks I made later on she'd be bound to remember it. Up to date, though, I haven't pulled anything of the kind. No. In fact, just thereverse. 

I've often wished there was some bureau I could go to and get thecorrect dope on managin' an in-law aunt with a hair-trigger disposition. Like the Department of Agriculture. You know if it was boll-weevils, orcattle tick, or black rust, all I'd have to do would be to drop apostcard to Washington and in a month or so I'd have all kinds ofpamphlets, with colored plates and diagrams, tellin' me just what to do. But balky aunts on your wife's side seem to have been overlooked. 

Somebody ought to write a book on the subject. You can get 'em that willtell you how to play bridge, or golf, or read palms, or raise chickens, or bring up babies. But nothin' on aunts who give you the cold eye andwork up suspicions. And it's more or less important, 'specially ifthey're will-makin' aunts, with something to make wills about. 

Not that I'm any legacy hound. She can do what she wants with her money, for all of me. Course, there's Vee to be considered. I wouldn't want tothink, when the time comes, if it ever does, that her Auntie is with usno more, that it was on account of something I'd said or done that theSociety for the Suppression of Jazz Orchestras was handed an unexpectedbale of securities instead of the same being put where Vee could cash inon the coupons. Also there's Master Richard Hemmingway. I want to beable to look sonny in the face, years from now, without having toexplain that if I'd been a little more diplomatic towards his mother'sfemale relations he might he startin' for college on an income of hisown instead of havin' to depend on my financin' his football career. 

Besides, our family is so small that it seems to me the least I can doto be on good terms with all of 'em. 'Specially I'd like to pleaseAuntie now and then just for the sake of--well, I don't go so far as tosay I could be fond of Auntie for herself alone, but you know what Imean. It's the proper thing. 

At the same time, I wouldn't want to seem to be overdoin' the act. No. So when it's a question of whether Auntie should be allowed to settledown for the spring in an apartment hotel in town, or be urged to stopwith us until Bar Harbor opened for the season, I was all for themodest, retirin' stuff. 

"She might think she had to come if she was asked, " I suggests to Vee. "And if she turned us down we'd have to look disappointed and that mightmake her feel bad. "

"I hadn't considered that, Torchy, " says Vee. "How thoughtful of you!"

"Oh, not at all, " says I, wavin' my hand careless. "I simply want to dowhat is best for Auntie. Besides, you know how sort of uneasy she is inthe country, with so little going on. And later, if we can persuade herto make us a little visit, for over night maybe, why----" I shrugs myshoulders enthusiastic. Anyway, that's what I tried to register. 

It went with Vee, all right. One of the last things she does is to getsuspicious of my moves. And that's a great help. So we agrees to letAuntie enjoy her four rooms and bath on East Sixty-umpt Street withouttryin' to drag her out on Long Island where she might be annoyed by therobins singin' too early in the mornin' or havin' the scent of lilacsdriftin' too heavy into the windows. 

"Besides, " I adds, just to clinch the case, "if she stays in town shewon't be bothered by Buddy barkin' around, and she won't have to worryabout how we're bringin' up 'Ikky boy. Yep. It's the best thing forher. "

If Auntie had been in on the argument I expect she'd differed with me. She generally does. It's almost a habit with her. But not being presentmaybe she had a hunch herself that she'd like the city better. Anyway, that's where she camps down, only runnin' out once or twice forluncheon, while I'm at the office, and havin' nice little chatty visitswith Vee over the long distance. 

Honest, I can enjoy an Auntie who does her droppin' in by 'phone. Ialmost got so fond of her that I was on the point of suggestin' to Veethat she tell Auntie to reverse the charges. No, I didn't quite go thatfar. I'd hate to have her think I was gettin' slushy or sentimental. Butit sure was comfortin', when I came home after a busy day at theCorrugated Trust, to reflect that Auntie was settled nice and cozy onthe ninth floor about twenty-five miles due west from us. 

I should have knocked on wood, though. Uh-huh. Or kept my fingerscrossed, or something. For here the other night, as I strolls up fromthe station I spots an express truck movin' on ahead in the generaldirection of our house. I felt kind of a sinkin' sensation the minute Isaw that truck. I can't say why. Psychic, I expect. You know. Ouijastuff. 

And sure enough, the blamed truck turns into our driveway. By the timeI arrives the man has just unloaded two wardrobe trunks and a hat box. And in the livin' room I finds Auntie. 

"Eh?" says I, starin'. "Why, I--I thought you was----"

"How cordial!" says Auntie. 

"Yes, " says I, catchin' my breath quick. "Isn't it perfectly bully thatyou could come? We was afraid you'd be havin' such a good time in townthat we couldn't----"

"And so I was, until last night, " says Auntie. "Verona, will tell youall about it, I've no doubt. "

Oh yes, Vee does. She unloads it durin' a little stroll we took outtowards the garden. New York hadn't been behavin' well towards Auntie. Not at all well. Just got on one of its cantankerous streaks. First offthere was a waiters' strike on the roof-garden restaurant where most ofthe tenants took their dinners. It happened between soup and fish. Infact, the fish never got there at all. Nor the roast, nor the rest ofthe meal. And the head waiter and the house manager had arough-and-tumble scrap right in plain sight of everybody and someperfectly awful language was used. Also the striking waiters marched outin a body and shouted things at the manager as they went. So Auntie hadto put on her things and call a taxi and drive eight blocks before shecould finish her dinner. 

Then about 9 o'clock, as she was settling down for a quiet evening inher rooms, New York pulled another playful little stunt on her. Nothingunusual. A leaky gas main and a poorly insulated electric light cablemade connection with the well-known results. For half a mile up and downthe avenue that Auntie's apartment faced on the manhole covers wereblown off. They go off with a roar and a bang, you know. One of 'emsailed neatly up within ten feet of Auntie's back hair, crashed throughthe window of the apartment just above her and landed on the floor soimpetuous that about a yard of plaster came rattlin' down on Auntie'shead. Some fell in her lap and some went down the back of her neck. 

All of which was more or less disturbin' to an old girl who was tryin'to read Amy Lowell's poems and had had her nerves jarred only a coupleof hours before. However, she came out of it noble, with the aid of hersmellin' salts and the assurance of the manager that it wouldn't happenagain. Not that same evenin', anyway. He was almost positive itwouldn't. At least, it seldom did. 

But being in on a strike, and a free-for-all fight, and a conduitexplosion hadn't prepared Auntie to hit the feathers early. So at 1:30A. M. She was still wide awake and wanderin' around in her nightie withthe shades up and the lights out. That's how she happened to bestretchin' her neck out of the window when this offensive broke looseon the roof of the buildin' across the way. 

Auntie was just wondering why those two men were skylarking around onthe roof so late at night when two more popped out of skylights andbegan to bang away at them with revolvers. Then the first two started toshoot back, and the first thing Auntie knew there was a crash right overher head where a stray bullet had wandered through the upper pane. Uponwhich Auntie screamed and fainted. Of course, she had read about loftrobbers, but she hadn't seen 'em in action. And she didn't want to see'em at such close range any more. Not her. She'd had enough, thank you. So when she came to from her faintin' spell she begun packin' hertrunks. After breakfast she'd called Vee on the 'phone, sketched outsome of her troubles, and been invited to come straight to Harbor Hills. 

"It was the only thing to be done, " says Vee. 

"Well, maybe, " says I. "Course, she might have tried another apartmenthotel. They don't all have strikes and explosions and burglar huntsgoin' on. Not every night. She might have taken a chance or one or twomore. "

"But with her nerves all upset like that, " protests Vee, "I don't seewhy she should, when here we are with----"

"Yes, I expect there was no dodgin' it, " I agrees. 

At dinner Auntie is still sort of jumpy but she says it's a greatsatisfaction to know that she is out here in the calm, peaceful country. "It's dull, of course, " she goes on, "but at the same time it is all sorestful and soothing. One knows that nothing whatever is going tohappen. "

"Ye-e-es, " says I, draggy. "And yet, you can't always tell. "

"Can't always tell what?" demands Auntie. 

"About things not happenin' out here, " says I. 

"But, Torchy, " says Vee, "what could possibly happen here; that is, likethose things in town?"

I shrugs my shoulders and shakes my head. 

"How absurd!" says Vee. 

Auntie gives me one of them cold storage looks of hers. "I have usuallynoticed, " says she, "that things do not happen of themselves. Usuallysome one is responsible for their happening. "

What she meant by that I couldn't quite make out. Oh yes, takin' alittle rap at me, no doubt. But just how or what for I passed up. Imight have forgotten it altogether if she hadn't reminded me now andthen by favorin' me with a suspicious glare, the kind one of Mr. Palmer's agents might give to a party in a checked suit steppin' off thetrain from Montreal with something bulgin' on the hip. 

So it was kind of unfortunate that when Vee suddenly remembers theAiredale pup and asks where he is that I should say just what I did. "Buddy?" says I. "Oh, he's all right. I shut him up myself. "

It was a fact. I had. And I'd meant well by it. For that's one of thethings we have to look out for when Auntie's visitin' us, to keep Buddyaway from her. Not that there's anything vicious about Buddy. Not atall. But being only a year old and full of pep and affection, and not atall discriminatin', he's apt to be a bit boisterous in welcomin'visitors; and while some folks don't mind havin' fifty pounds of dogbounce at 'em sudden, or bein' clawed, or havin' their faces licked by amoist pink tongue, Auntie ain't one of that kind. She gets petrified andsqueals for help and insists that the brute is trying to eat her up. 

So as soon as I'd come home and had my usual rough-house session withBuddy, I leads him upstairs and carefully parks him in the south bedroomover the kitchen wing. Being thoughtful and considerate, I call that. Not to Buddy maybe, who's used to spendin' the dinner hour with his nosejust inside the dinin' room door; but to Auntie, anyway. 

Which is why I'm so surprised, along about 9 o'clock when Auntie hasmade an early start for a good night's rest, to hear these loud hostilewoofs comin' from him and then these blood curdlin' screams. 

"For the love of Mike!" I gasps. "Where did you put Auntie?"

"Why, in the south bedroom this time, " says Vee. 

"Hal-lup!" says I. "That's where I put Buddy. "

It was a race then up the stairs, with me tryin' to protest on the jumpthat I didn't know Vee had decided to shift Auntie from the reg'larguest room to this one. 

"Surely you didn't, " admits Vee. "But I thought the south room would beso much sunnier and more cheerful. I--I'll explain to Auntie. "

"It can't be done, " says I. "Stop it, Buddy! All right, boy. It'sperfectly all right. "

Buddy don't believe it, though, until I've opened the door and switchedon the light. Young as he is he's right up on the watch-dog act and whenstrangers come prowlin' around in the dark that's his cue for goin' intoaction. He has cornered Auntie scientific and while turnin' in a generalalarm he has improved the time by tearin' mouthfuls out of her dress. Atthat, too, it's lucky he hadn't begun to take mouthfuls out of Auntie. 

As for the old girl, she's so scared she can't talk and so mad she canhardly see. She stands there limp in a tattered skirt with some of hergray store hair that has slipped its moorin's restin' jaunty over oneear and her eyes blazin' hostile. 

"Oh, Auntie!" begins Vee. "It was all my----"

"Not a word, Verona, " snaps Auntie. "I know perfectly well who isresponsible for this--this outrage. " With that she glares at me. 

Course, we both tells her just how the mistake was made, over and over, but it don't register. 

"Humph!" says she at last. "If I didn't remember a warning I had atdinner perhaps I might think as you do, Verona. But I trust that nothingelse has been--er--arranged for my benefit. "

"That's generous, anyway, " says I, indulgin' in a sarcastic smile. 

It's an hour before Auntie's nerves are soothed down enough for her tomake another stab at enjoyin' a peaceful night. Even then she demands toknow what that throbbin' noise is that she hears. 

"Oh, that?" says I. "Only the cistern pump fillin' up the rain watertank in the attic. That'll quit soon. Automatic shut-off, you know. "

"Verona, " she goes on, ignorin' me, "you are certain it is quite allright, are you?"

"Oh, yes, " says Vee. "It's one we had put in only last week. Runs byelectricity, or some thing. Anyway, the plumber explained to Torchy justhow it works. He knows all about it, don't you, Torchy?"

"Uh-huh, " says I, careless. 

I did, too. The plumber had sketched out the workin's of the thingelaborate to me, but I didn't see the need of spendin' the rest of thenight passin' an examination in the subject. Besides, a few of thedetails I was a little vague about. 

"Very well, then, " says Auntie. And she consents to make one more stabat retirin'. 

I couldn't help sighin' relieved when we heard her door shut. "Now ifthe roosters don't start crowin', " says I, "or a tornado don't hit us, or an earthquake break loose, all will be well. But if any of themthings do happen, I'll be blamed. "

"Nonsense, " says Vee. "Auntie is going to have a nice, quiet, restfulnight and in the morning she will be herself again. "

"Here's hoping, " says I. 

And if it's good evidence I'd like to submit the fact that within' fiveminutes after I'd rolled into my humble little white iron cot out on thesleepin' porch I was dead to the world. Could I have done that if I'dhad on my mind a fiendish plot against the peace and safety of the onlyreal aunt we have in the fam'ly? I ask you. 

Seemed like I'd been asleep for hours and hours, and I believe I wasdreamin' that I was being serenaded by a drum corps and that the bassdrummer was mistakin' me for the drum and thumpin' me on the ribs, whenI woke up and found Vee proddin' me from the next cot. 

"Torchy!" she's sayin'. "Is that rain?"

"Eh?" says I. "No, that's the drum corps. "

"What?" says she. "Don't be silly. It sounds like rain. "

"Rain nothing, " says I, rubbin' my eyes open. "Why, the moon's shiningand--but, it does sound like water drippin'. "

"Drippin!" says Vee. "It's just pouring down somewhere. But where, Torchy?"

"Give it up, " says I. "That is, unless it could be that blessedtank----"

"That's it!" says Vee. "The tank! But--but just where is it?"

"Why, " says I, "it's in the attic over--over--Oh, goodnight!" I groans. 

"Well?" demands Vee. "Over what?"

"Over the south bedroom, " says I. "Quick! Rescue expedition No. 2. Auntie again!"

It was Auntie. Although she was clear at the other end of the house fromus we heard her moanin' and takin' on even before we got the hall dooropen. And, of course, we made another mad dash. Once more I pushes theswitch button and reveals Auntie in a new plight. Some situation, I'llsay, too. Uh-huh!

You see, there's an unfinished space over the kitchen well and theplumber had located this hundred-gallon tank in the middle of it. As itso happens the tank is right over the bed. Well, naturally when the foolautomatic shut-off fails to work and the overflow pipe is taxed beyondits capacity, the surplus water has to go somewhere. It leaks throughthe floorin', trickles down between the laths and through the plaster, and some of it finds its way along the beams and under the eaves untilit splashes down on the roof of the pantry extension. That's what we'dheard. But the rest had poured straight down on Auntie. 

Being in a strange room and so confused to wake up and find herselftreated to a shower bath that she hadn't ordered, Auntie couldn't locatethe light button. All she could remember was that in unpackin' she'dstood an umbrella near the head of the bed. So with great presence ofmind she's reached out and grabbed that, unfurled it, and is sittin'there damp and wailin' in a nice little pool of water that's risin'every minute. She's just as cosy as a settin' hen caught in a flood andis wearin' about the same contented expression, I judge. 

"Why, Auntie, how absurd!" says Vee. 

It wasn't just the right thing to say. Natural enough, I'll admit, buthardly the remark to spill at that precise moment. I could see theexplosion coming, so after one more look I smothers a chuckle on my ownaccount and beats it towards the cellar where that blamed pump is stillchuggin' away merry and industrious. By turnin' off all the switches andhandles in sight I manages to induce the fool thing to quit. Then Isneaks back upstairs, puts on a bathrobe and knocks timid on the door ofthe reg'lar guest room from which I hears sounds of earnest voices. 

"Can I help any?" says I. 

"No, no!" calls out Vee. "You--you'd best go away, Torchy. "

She's generally right, Vee is. I went. I took a casual look at theflooded kitchen with an inch or more of water on the linoleum, andconcluded to leave that problem to the help when they showed up in themornin'. And I don't know how long Vee spent in tryin' to convinceAuntie that I hadn't personally climbed into the attic, bugged the pump, and bored holes through the ceilin'. As I couldn't go on the stand in myown defense I did the next best thing. I finished out my sleep. 

In the mornin' I got the verdict. "Auntie's going back to town, " saysVee. "She thinks, after all, that it will be more restful there. "

"It will be for me, anyway, " says I. 

I don't know how Vee and Master Richard still stand with Auntie. Theymay be in the will yet, or they may not. As for Buddy and me, I'll betwe're out. Absolutely. But we can grin, even at that. 

CHAPTER XVIII

HARTLEY PULLS A NEW ONE

Looked like kind of a simple guy, this Hartley Tyler. I expect it wasthe wide-set, sort of starey eyes, or maybe the stiff way he had ofholdin' his neck. If you'd asked me I'd said he might have qualified asa rubber-stamp secretary in some insurance office, or as a tea-taster, or as a subway ticket-chopper. 

Anyway, he wasn't one you'd look for any direct action from. Too mildspoken and slow moving. And yet when he did cut loose with an originalmotion he shoots the whole works on one roll of the bones. He'd come outof the bond room one Saturday about closin' time and tip-toed hesitatin'up to where Piddie and I was havin' a little confab on some importantbusiness matter--such as whether the Corrugated ought to stand for thenew demands of the window cleaners, or cut the contract to twice a monthinstead of once a week. Mr. Piddie would like to take things like thatstraight to Old Hickory himself, but he don't quite dare, so he holds meup and asks what I think Mr. Ellins would rule in such a case. I wasjust giving him some josh or other when he notices Hartley standin'there patient. 

"Well?" says Piddie, in his snappiest office-manager style. 

"Pardon me, sir, " says Hartley, "but several weeks ago I put in arequest for an increase in salary, to take effect this month. "

"Oh, did you?" says Piddie, springin' that sarcastic smile of his. "Do Iunderstand that it was an ultimatum?"

"Why--er--I hadn't thought of putting it in that form, sir, " saysHartley, blinkin' something like an owl that's been poked off his nest. 

"Then I may as well tell you, young man, " says Piddie, "that it seemsinadvisable for us to grant your request at this time. "

Hartley indulges in a couple more blinks and then adds: "I trust that Imade it clear, Mr. Piddie, how important such an increase was to me?"

"No doubt you did, " says Piddie, "but you don't get it. "

"That is--er--final, is it?" asks Hartley. 

"Quite, " says Piddie. "For the present you will continue at the samesalary. "

"I'll see you eternally cursed if I do, " observes Hartley, withoutchangin' his tone a note. 

"Eh?" gasps Piddie. 

"Oh, go to thunder, you pin-head!" says Hartley, startin' back for thebond room to collect his eye-shade, cuff protectors and other tools ofhis trade. 

"You--you're discharged, young man!" Piddie gurgles out throaty. 

"Very well, " Hartley throws over his shoulder. "Have it that way if youlike. "

Which is where I gets Piddie's goat still further on the rampage bylettin' out a chuckle. 

"The young whipper-snapper!" growls Piddie. 

"Oh, all of that!" says I. "What you going to do besides fire him?Couldn't have him indicted under the Lever act, could you?"

Piddie just glares and stalks off. Having been called a pin-head by abond room cub he's in no mood to be kidded. So I follows in for a fewwords with Hartley. You see, I could appreciate the situation evenbetter than Piddie, for I knew more of the facts in the case than hedid. For instance, I had happened to be in Old Hickory's private officewhen old man Tyler, who's one of our directors, you know, had wished hisonly son onto our bond room staff. 

He's kind of a rough old boy, Z. K. Tyler, one of the bottom-rungers wholikes to tell how he made his start as fry cook on an owl lunch wagon. Course, now he has his Broad Street offices and is one of the big noiseson the Curb market. Operatin' in motor stocks is his specialty, and whenyou hear of two or three concerns being merged and the minority holdershowlin' about being gypped, or any little deal like that, you can make asafe bet that somewhere in the background is old Z. K. Jugglin' thewires and rakin' in the loose shekels. How he gets away with that stuffwithout makin' the rock pile is by me, but he seems to do it reg'lar. 

And wouldn't you guess he'd be just the one to have finicky ideas as tohow his son and heir should conduct himself. Sure thing! I heard himsketchin' some of 'em out to Old Hickory. 

"The trouble with most young fellows, " says he, "is that they're broughtup too soft. Kick 'em out and let 'em rustle for themselves. That's whatI had to do. Made a man of me. Now take Hartley. He's twenty-five andhas had it easy all his life--city and country home, college, cars todrive, servants to wait on him, and all that. What's it done for him?Why, he has no more idea of how to make a dollar for himself than achicken has of stirring up an omelette. 

"Of course, I could take him in with me and show him the ropes, but hecouldn't learn anything worth while that way. He'd simply be a copy-cat. He'd develop no originality. Besides, I'd rather see him in some otherline. You understand, Ellins? Something a little more substantial. Gotto find it for himself, though. He's got to make good on his own hookbefore I'll help him any more. So out he goes. 

"Ought to have a year or so to pick up the elements of business, though. So let's find a place for him here in the Corrugated. No snap job. Iwant him to earn every dollar he gets, and to live off what he earns. Dohim good. Maybe it'll knock some of the fool notions out of his head. Oh, he's got 'em. Say, you couldn't guess what fool idea he came backfrom college with. Thought he wanted to be a painter. Uh-huh! An artist!Asked me to set him up in a studio. All because him and a room mate hadbeen daubin' some brushes with oil paints at a summer school they wentto during a couple of vacations. Seems a long-haired instructor had beentelling Hartley what great talent he had. Huh! I soon cured him of that. 'Go right to it, son, ' says I. 'Paint something you can sell for fivehundred and I'll cover it with a thousand. Until then, not a red cent. 'And inside of twenty-four hours he concluded he wasn't any buddingWhistler or Sargent, and came asking what I thought he should tacklefirst. Eh? Think you could place him somewhere?"

So Old Hickory merely shrugs his shoulders and presses the button forPiddie. I expect he hears a similar tale about once a month and as arule he comes across with a job for sonny boy. 'Specially when it's adirector that does the askin'. Now and then, too, one of 'em turns outto be quite a help, and if they're utterly useless he can always dependon Piddie to find it out and give 'em the quick chuck. 

As a rule this swift release don't mean much to the Harolds and Perceysexcept a welcome vacation while the old man pries open another sideentrance in the house of Opportunity, Ltd. , which fact Piddie is wiseto. But in this ease it's a different proposition. 

"Did you mean it, Tyler, handin' yourself the fresh air that way!" Iasks him. 

"Absolutely, " says he, snappin' some rubber bands around, a neat littlebundle. 

"Who'd have thought you was a self starter!" says I. "What you going todo now?"

He hunches his shoulders. "Don't know, " says he. "I must find somethingmighty quick, though. "

"Oh, it can't be as desperate a case as that, can if?" I asks. "You knowyou'll get two weeks' pay and with that any single-footed young hicklike you ought to----"

"But it happens I'm not single-footed, " breaks in Hartley. 

"Eh?" says I. "You don't mean you've gone and----"

"Nearly a month ago, " says Hartley. "Nicest little girl in the world, too. You must have noticed her. She was on the candy counter in thearcade for a month or so. "

"What!" says I. "The one with the honey-colored hair and the bashfulbehavin' eyes?"

Hartley nods and blushes. 

"Say, you are a fast worker when you get going, ain't you?" says I. "Picked a Cutie-Sweet right away from all that opposition. But I judgeshe's no heiress. "

"Edith is just as poor as I am, " admits Hartley. 

"How about your old man?" I goes on. "What did Z. K. Have to say when heheard!"

"Suppose'we don't go into that, " says Hartley. "As a matter of fact, Ihung up the 'phone just as he was getting his second wind. "

"Then he didn't pull the 'bless you, my children, ' stuff, eh?" Isuggests. 

"No, " says Hartley, grinnin'. "Quite the contrary. Anyway, I knew whatto expect from him. But say, Torchy, I did have a pretty vague notion ofwhat it costs to run a family these days. "

"Don't you read the newspapers?" says I. 

"Oh, I suppose I had glanced at the headlines, " says Hartley. "And ofcourse I knew that restaurant prices had gone up, and laundry charges, and cigarettes and so. But I hadn't shopped for ladies' silk hose, orfor shoes, or--er--robes de nuit, or that sort of thing. And I hadn'ttried to hire a three-room furnished apartment. Honest, it's somethingawful. "

"Yes, I've heard something like that for quite a spell now, " says I. "Found that your little hundred and fifty a month wouldn't go very far, did you?"

"Far!" says Hartley. "Why, it was like taking a one-gallon freezer ofice cream to a Sunday school picnic. Really, it seemed as if there werea thousand hands reaching out for my pay envelope the moment I got it. I don't understand how young married couples get along at all. "

"If you did, " says I, "you'd have a steady job explainin' the miracle toabout 'steen different Congressional committees. How about Edith? Is shea help--or otherwise?"

"She's a good sport, Edith is, " says Hartley. "She keeps me bucked up alot. It was her decision that I just passed on to Mr. Piddie. We talkedit all out last night; how impossible it was to live on my presentsalary, and what I should say if it wasn't raised. That is, all but thecrude way I put it, and the pin-head part. We agreed, though, that I hadto make a break, and that it might as well be now as later on. "

"Well, you've made it, " says I. "What now?"

"We've got to think that out, " says Hartley. 

"The best of luck to you, " says I, as he starts toward the elevator. 

And with that Hartley drops out. You know how it is here in New York. Ifyou don't come in on the same train with people you know, or they workin different buildin's, or patronize some other lunch room, the chancesof your seein' 'em more 'n once in six months are about as good asthough they'd moved to St. Louis or Santa Fe. 

I expect I was curious about what was goin' to happen to Hartley and hiscandy counter bride, maybe for two or three days. But it must have beenas many weeks before I even heard his name mentioned. That was when oldZ. K. Blew into the private office one day and, after a half hour ofbusiness chat, remarks to Old Hickory; "By the way, Ellins, how is thatson of mine getting on?"

"Eh?" says Old Hickory, starin' at him blank. "Son of yours with us? I'dforgotten. Let's see. Torchy, in what department is young Tyler now?"

"Hartley?" says I. "Oh, he quit weeks ago. "

"Quit?" says Z. K. "Do you mean he was fired?"

"A little of both, " says I. "Him and Mr. Piddie split about fifty-fiftyon that. They had a debate about him gettin' a raise. No, he didn'tleave any forwardin' address and he hasn't been back since. "

"Huh!" says Z. K. , scratchin' his left ear. "He'd had the impudence togo and get himself married, too. Think of that Ellins! A youngster whonever did a stroke of real work in his life loads himself up with afamily in these times. Well, I suppose he's finding out what a fool heis, and when they both get good and hungry he'll come crawling back. Ohyes, I'll give him a job this time, a real one. You know I've beenrebuilding my country home down near Great Neck. Been having a deuce ofa time doing it, too--materials held up, workmen going out on strikesevery few days. I'll set Hartley to running a concrete mixer, orwheeling bricks when he shows up. "

But somehow Hartley don't do the homeward crawl quite on schedule. Atany rate, old Z. K. Was in the office three or four times after thatwithout mentionin' it, and you bet he would have cackled some if Hartleyhad come back. All he reports is that the house rebuildin' is draggin'along to a finish and he hopes to be able to move in shortly. 

"Want you to drive over and see what you think of it, " he remarks to Mr. Robert, once when Old Hickory happens to be out. "Only a few plasterersand plumbers and painters still hanging on. How about next Saturday?I've got to be there about 2 o'clock. What say?"

"I shall be very glad to, " says Mr. Robert, who's always plannin' outways of revisin' his own place. 

If it hadn't been for some Western correspondence that needed codereplies by wire I expect I should have missed out on this tour ofinspection to the double-breasted new Tyler mansion. As it was Mr. Robert tells me to take the code book and my hat and come along with himin the limousine. So by the time we struck Jamaica I was ready to filethe messages and enjoy the rest of the drive. 

We finds old Z. K. Already on the ground, unloadin' a morning grouch ona landscape architect. 

"Be with you in a minute, Robert, " says he. "Just wander in and lookaround. "

That wasn't so easy as it sounded, for all through the big rooms wasscaffolds and ladders and a dozen or more original members of theOveralls Club splashin' mortar and paint around. I was glancin' at thesehorny-handed sons of toil sort of casual when all of a sudden I spotsone guy in a well-daubed suit of near-white ducks who looks strangelyfamiliar. Walkin' up to the step-ladder for a closer view I has to stopand let out a chuckle. It's Hartley. 

"Well, well!" says I. "So you did have to crawl back, eh?"

"Eh?" says he, almost droppin' a pail of white paint. "Why, hello, Torchy!"

"I see you're workin' for a real boss now, " says I. 

"Who do you mean?" says he. 

"The old man, " says I, grinnin'. 

"Not much!" says Hartley. "He's only the owner, and precious littlebossing he can do on this job. I'm working for McNibbs, the contractor. "

"You--you mean you're a reg'lar painter?" says I, gawpin'. 

"Got to be, or I couldn't handle a brush here, " says Hartley. "This is aunion job. "

"But--but how long has this been goin' on, Hartley?" I asks. 

"I've held my card for nearly three months now, " says he. "No, Ihaven't been painting here all that time. In fact, I came here only thismorning. The president of our local shifted me down here for--forreasons. I'm a real painter, though. "

"You look it, I must say, " says I. "Like it better than being in thebond room?"

"Oh, I'm not crazy about it, " says he. "Rather smelly work. But it payswell. Dollar an hour, you know, and time and a half for overtime. Imanage to knock out sixty or so a week. Then I get something for beingsecretary of the Union. "

"Huh!" says I. "Secretary, are you? How'd you work up to that so quick?"

"Oh, they found I could write fairly good English and was quick atfigures, " says he. "Besides, I'm always foreman of the gang. Do all thecolor mixing, you know. That's where my art school experience comes inhandy. "

"That ought to tickle the old man, " says I. "Seen him yet?"

"No, " says Hartley, "but I want to. Is he here?"

"Sure, " says I. "He's just outside. He'll be in soon. "

"Fine!" says Hartley. "Say, Torchy, stick around if you want to beentertained. I have a message for him. "

"I'll be on hand, " says I. "Here he comes now. "

As old Z. K. Stalks in, still red in the ears from his debate outside, Hartley climbs down off the step ladder. For a minute or so the old mandon't seem to see him any more'n he does any of the other workmen thathe's had to dodge around. Not until Hartley steps right up to him andremarks: "Mr. Tyler, I believe?" does Z. K. Stop and let out a gasp. 

"Hah!" he snorts. "Hartley, eh? Well, what does this mean--amasquerade?"

"Not at all, " says Hartley. "This is my regular work. "

"Oh, it is, eh?" says he. "Well, keep at it then. Why do you knock offto talk to me?"

"Because I have something to say to you, sir, " says Hartley. "You sent acouple of non-union plumbers down here the other day, didn't you?"

"What if I did?" demands Z. K. "Got to get the work finished somehow, haven't I?"

"You'll never get it finished with scab labor, Mr. Tyler, " says Hartley. "You have tried that before, haven't you? Well, this is final. Sendthose plumbers off at once or I will call out every other man on thejob. "

"Wh-a-a-at!" gasps Z. K. "You will! What in thunder have you got to dowith it?"

"I've been authorized by the president of our local to strike the job, that's all, " says Hartley. "I am the secretary. Here are my credentialsand my union card. "

"Bah!" snorts Z. K. "You impudent young shrimp. I don't believe a wordof it. And let me tell you, young man, that I'll send whoever I pleaseto do the work here, unions or no unions. "

"Very well, " says Hartley. With that he turns and calls out: "Lay off, men. Pass the word on. "

And say, inside of two minutes there isn't a lick of work being doneanywhere about the place. Plasterers drop their trowels and smoothingboards, painters come down off the ladders, and all hands begin sheddin'their work clothes. And while Z. K. Is still sputterin' and fumin' themen begin to file out with their tools under their arms. MeanwhileHartley has stepped over into a corner and is leisurely peelin' off hispaint-spattered ducks. 

"See here, you young hound!" shouts Z. K. "You know I want to get intothis house early next month. I--I've simply got to. "

"The prospects aren't good, " says Hartley. 

Well, they had it back and forth like that for maybe five minutes beforeZ. K. Starts to calm down a bit. He's a foxy old pirate, and he hates toquit, but he's wise enough to know when he's beaten. 

"Rather smooth of you, son, getting back at me this way, " he observessmilin' sort of grim. "Learned a few things, haven't you, since you'vebeen knocking around?"

"Oh, I was bound to, " says Hartley. 

"Got to be quite a man, too--among painters, eh?" adds Z. K. 

Hartley shrugs his shoulders. 

"Could you call all those fellows back as easily as you sent them off?"demands Tyler. 

"Quite, " says Hartley. "I wouldn't, though, until you had fired thosescab plumbers. "

"I see, " says Z. K. "And if I did fire 'em, do you think you haveinfluence enough to get a full crew of union men to finish this job bynext Saturday?"

"Oh, yes, " says Hartley. "I could put fifty men at work here Mondaymorning--if I wanted to. "

"H-m-m-m!" says Z. K. , caressin' his left ear. "It's rather a big housefor just your mother and me to live in. Plenty of room for anotherfamily. And I suppose a good studio could be fixed up on the thirdfloor. Well, son, want to call it a trade?"

"I'll have to talk to Edith first, " says Hartley. "I think she'll likeit, and I'll bet you'll like her, too. "

Uh-huh! From late reports I hear that Hartley was right both ways. A fewdays later Mr. Robert tells me that the Tylers are all preparin' to moveout together. He had seen the whole four of 'em havin' a reunion dinnerat the Plutoria, and says they all seemed very chummy. 

"Just like they was members of One Big Union, eh?" says I. "But say, Hartley's right up to date in his methods of handlin' a wrathy parent, ain't he? Call a strike on 'em. That's the modern style. I wonder ifhe's got it patented?"

CHAPTER XIX

TORCHY GETS A HUNCH

Course, I only got my suspicions, and I ain't in position to call forthe real facts in the case, but I'll bet if it came to a show down Icould name the master mind that wished this backache and the palmblisters on me. Uh-huh! Auntie. I wouldn't put it past her, for when itcomes to evenin' up a score she's generally right there with the goods. Deep stuff, as a rule, too. 

I ain't denyin' either, but what Auntie had grounds for complaint. Maybeyou remember how she came out to spend a quiet week-end with us after anerve shatterin' night in town and near got chewed up by Buddy, thesuper-watch dog, and then was almost flooded out of bed because theattic storage tank ran over? Not that I didn't have a perfect alibi onboth counts. I did. But neither registered with Auntie. 

Still, this before-breakfast sod-turnin' idea comes straight from Vee. Ever try that for an appetizer? Go on, give it a whirl. Ought to bewillin' to try anything once, you know. Some wise old guy said that, Iunderstand. I'd like to find the spot where he's laid away. I think I'dgo plant a cabbage on his grave. Anyway, he's got some little tributelike that comin' from me. 

Just turnin' up sod with a spade in the dewy morn. Listens kind ofromantic, don't it! And you might like it first rate. Might agree withyou. As for me, I've discovered that my system don't demand anythinglike that. Posi-tive-ly. I gave it a good try-out and the reactionswasn't satisfactory. 

You see, it was this way: there's a narrow strip down by the road whereour four-acre estate sort of pinches out, and Vee had planned to do somefancy landscape gardenin' on it--a bed of cannas down the middle, Ibelieve, and then rows of salvia, and geraniums and other things. Shehad it all mapped out on paper. Also the bulbs and potted plants hadarrived and were ready to be put in. 

But it happens that Dominick, our official gardener, had all he couldjump to just then, plantin' beans and peas and corn, and the helper hedepended on to break up this roadside strip had gone back on him. 

"How provoking!" says Vee. "I am so anxious to get those things in. Ifthe ground was ready I would do the planting myself. I just wish"--andthen she stops. 

"Well, let's have it, " says I. "What's your wish?"

"Oh, nothing much Torchy, " says she. "But if I were strong enough todig up that sod I wouldn't have to wait for any pokey Italian. "

"Why couldn't I do it?" I suggests reckless. 

"You!" says Vee, and then snickers. 

Say, if she'd come poutin' around, or said right out that she didn't seewhy I couldn't make myself useful now and then, I'd have announced flatthat gardenin' was way out of my line. But when she snickers--well, youknow how it is. 

"Yessum! Me, " says I. "It ain't any art, is it, just stirrin' up theground with a spade? And how do you know, Vee, but what I'm the grandestlittle digger ever was? Maybe it's a talent I've been concealin' fromyou all along. "

"But it's rather hard work, turning old sod, and getting out all thegrass roots and rocks, " says she. "It takes a lot of strength. "

"Huh!" says I. "Feel of that right arm. "

"Yes, " says she, "I believe you are strong, Torchy. But when could youfind the time?"

"I'd make it, " says I. "All I got to do is to roll out of the cot anhour or so earlier in the morning. Wouldn't six hours do the job? Well, two hours a day for three days, and there you are. Efficiency stuff. That's me. Lead me to it. "

Vee gazes at me admirin'. "Aren't you splendid, Torchy!" says she. "AndI'm sure the exercise will do you a lot of good. "

"Sure!" says I. "Most likely I'll get the habit and by the end of thesummer I'll be a reg'lar Sandow. Now where's that kitchen alarm clock?Let's see. M-m-m-m! About 5:30 will do for a starter, eh?"

Oh, I'm a determined cuss when I get going. Next mornin' the sun and mepunched in at exactly the same time, and I don't know which was mostsurprised. But there I was, associatin' with the twitterin' little birdsand the early worms, and to show I was just as happy as they were I humsa merry song as I swings out through the dewy grass with the spade overmy shoulder. 

Say, there's no fake about the grass being dewy at that hour, either. Ihadn't gone more 'n a dozen steps through it before my feet were assoggy as if I'd been wadin' in a brook. I don't do any stallin' around, same as these low brow labor gangs. I pitches right in earnest andimpetuous, makin' the dirt fly. Why, I had the busy little bee lookin'like he was loafin' on a government contract. 

I was just about gettin' my second wind and was puttin' in some heavylicks when I hears somebody tootin' a motor horn out in the road. Ilooks up to find that it's that sporty neighbor of mine, Nick Barrett, who now and then indulges a fad for an early spin in his strippedroadster. He has collected his particular chum, Norris Bagby, and Iexpect they're out to burn up the macadam before the traffic cops go onduty. 

"What's the big idea, Torchy?" sings out Nick. "Going to bury a cat, orsomething?"

"Nothing tragic like that, " says I. "Just subbin' in for the gardener. Pulling a little honest toil, such as maybe you've read about buthaven't met. "

"Doing it on a bet, I suppose?" suggests Norris. 

"Ah, run along and don't get comic, " says I. 

And with that I tears into the sod again, puttin' both shoulders and myback into the swing. I don't let up, either, until I think it must beafter 7 o'clock, and then I stops long enough to look at my watch. It'sjust 6:20. Well, I expect I slowed up some from then on. No use tryin'to dig all over that ground in one morning. And at 6:35 I discovers thatI'd raised a water blister on both palms. Ten minutes later I noticedthis ache in my back and arms. 

"Oh, well!" says I, "gotta take time to change and wash up. "

At that I didn't feel so bad. After a shower and a fresh outfit from thesocks up I was ready to tackle three fried eggs and two cups of coffee. On the way to the station I glanced proud at what I'd accomplished. Butsomehow it didn't look so much. Just a little place in one corner. 

Course, goin' in on the 8:03 I had to stand for a lot of kiddin'. They're a great bunch of humorists, them commuters. Nick and Norrie hasspread the news around industrious about my sunrise spadin' stunt, andeverybody has to pull his little wheeze. 

"How's the old back feel about now; eh, Torchy?" asks one. 

"Great stuff!" says another. "Everybody does it--once. "

"The boy's clever with the spade, I'll say, " adds Nick. "Let's all turnout tomorrow morning and watch him. He does it regular, they tell me. "

I grinned back at 'em as convincin' as I could. For somehow I wasn'tjust in the mood for grinnin'. My head was achin' more or less, and myback hurt, and my palms were sore. By noon I was a wreck. Absolutely. And when I thought of puttin' in two or three more sessions like that Ihad to groan. Could I do it? On the other hand, could I renig on the jobafter all that brash line of talk I'd given Vee?

Say, it was all I could do to limp out to luncheon. I didn't want much, but I thought maybe some tea and toast would make me feel better. And itwas in a restaurant that I ran across this grouchy Scotchman, MacGregorShinn, who sold me the place here a while back. 

"Maybe you don't know it, Mac, " says I, "but you're a wise guy. "

"Am I, though?" says he. "I hadn't noticed it myself. Just how, now?"

"Unloadin' that country property on me, " says I. "I used to wonder whyyou let go of it. I don't any more. I've got the right hunch at last. You got up bright and early one morning and tried digging around with aspade. Eh?"

Mac stares at me sort of puzzled. "Not me, " says he. "Whatever put thatin your mind, me lad?"

"Ah, come!" says I. "With all that land lyin' around you was bound toget reckless with a spade some time or other. Might not have been flowerbeds you was excavatin' for, same as me. Maybe you was specializin' onspuds, or cabbages. But I'll bet you had your foolish spell. "

Mr. Shinn shakes his head. "All the digging I ever did out there, " sayshe, "was with a niblick in the bunkers of the Roaring Rock golf course. No, I'm wrong. "

"Ha, ha!" says I. "I thought so. "

"Yes, " he goes on, rubbin' his chin reminiscent, "I mind me of onelittle job of digging I did. I had a cook once who had a fondness forgin that was scandalous. Locking it up was no good, except in my bureaudrawers, so one time when I had an extra case of Gordon come in Isneaked out at night and buried it. That was just before I sold theplace to you and--By George, me lad!"

Here he has stopped and is gazin' at me with his mouth open. 

"Well?" says I. 

"I canna mind digging it up again, " says he. 

"That doesn't sound much like a Scotchman, " says I, "being so carelesswith good liquor. But you were in such a rush to get back to town maybeyou did forget. Where did you plant it?"

Mac scratches his head. "I canna seem to think, " says he. 

And about then I begins to get a glimmer of this brilliant thought ofmine. "Would it have been in that three-cornered strip that runs alongby the road?" I asks. 

"It might, " says he. 

I didn't press him for any more details. I'd heard enough. I finished myinvalid's lunch and slid out. But say, when I caught the 5:13 out toHarbor Hills that afternoon I had something all doped out to slip tothat bunch of comic commuters. I laid for 'em in the smokin' car, andwhen Nick Barrett discovers me inspectin' my palm blisters he starts inwith his kidding again. 

"Oh, you'll be able to get out and dig again in a week or so, " says he. 

"I hope so, " says I. 

"Still strong for it, eh?" says he. 

"Maybe if you knew what I was diggin' for, " says I, "you'd--well, there's no tellin'. "

"Eh?" says he. "Whaddye mean?"

I shakes my head and looks mysterious. 

"Isn't it green corn, or string beans that you're aimin' at, Torchy?" heasks. 

"Not exactly, " says I. "Vegetable raisin' ain't in my line. I leavethat to Dominick. But this--oh, well!"

"You don't mean, " insists Nick, eyein' me close, "buried treasure!"

"I expect some would call it that--in these days, " says I. 

Uh-huh! I had him sittin' up by then, with his ear stretched. And I mustsay that from then on Nick does some scientific pumpin'. Not that I letout anything in so many words, but I'm afraid he got the idea that whatI was after was something money couldn't buy. That is, not unlesssomebody violated a sacred amendment to the grand old constitution. Infact, I may have mentioned casually that a whole case of Gordon wasworth riskin' a blister here and there. 

As for Nick, he simply listens and gasps. You know how desperate some ofthem sporty ginks are, who started out so gay only a year or so ago witha private stock in the cellar that they figured would last 'em until thecountry rose in wrath and undid Mr. Volstead's famous act? Most of 'emare discoverin' what poor guessers they were. About 90 per cent arebluffin' along on home brew hooch that has all the delicate bouquet ofembalmin' fluid and produced about the same effect as a slug of liquidT. N. T. , or else they're samplin' various kinds of patent medicines andperfumes. Why, I know of one thirsty soul who tries to work up a dinnerappetite by rattlin' a handful of shingle nails in the old shaker. Andif Nick Barrett has more 'n half a bottle of Martini mixture left in thehouse he sleeps with it under his pillow. So you can judge how far histongue hangs out when he gets me to hint that maybe a whole case ofGordon is buried somewhere on my premises. 

"Torchy, " says he, shakin' me solemn by the hand, "I wish you the bestof luck. If you'll take my advice, though, you won't mention this toanyone else. "

Oh, no, I didn't. That is, only to Norrie Bagby and one or two othersthat I managed to get a word with on the ride home. 

Vee was mighty sympathetic about the blisters and the way my back felt. I was dosed and plastered and put to bed at 8:30 to make up for all thesleep I'd lost at the other end of the day. 

"And we'll not bother any more about the silly old flowers, " says she. "If Dominick can't find time to do the spading we'll just let it go. "

"No, " says I, firm and heroic. "I'm no quitter, Vee. I said I'd get itdone within three days and I stick to it. "

"Torchy, " says she, "don't you dare try getting up again at daylight andworking with your poor blistered hands. I--I shall feel dreadfully aboutit, if you do. "

"Well, maybe I will skip tomorrow mornin', " says I, "but somehow orother that diggin' has got to be done. "

"I only wish Auntie could hear you say that, " says Vee, pattin' megently on the cheek. 

"Why Auntie?" I asks. 

"Oh, just because, " says Vee. 

With that she fixes me up all comfy on the sleepin' porch and tells meto call her if I want anything. 

"I won't, " says I. "I'm all set for slumber. It's goin' to be a finelarge night, ain't it!"

"Perfect, " says Vee. 

"Moon shinin' and everything?" says I. 

"Yes, " says she. 

"Then here's hoping, " says I. 

"There, there!" says Vee. "I'm afraid you're a little feverish. "

Maybe I was, but I didn't hear another thing until more 'n ten hourslater when I woke up to find the sun winkin' in at me through theshutters. 

"Did you have a good night's rest?" asks Vee. 

"As good as they come, " says I. "How about you!"

"Oh, I slept fairly well, " says she. "I was awake once or twice. Isuppose I was worrying a little about you. And then I thought I hearstrange noises. "

"What sort of noises?" I asks. 

"Oh, like a lot of men walking by, " says she. "That must have beennearly midnight. They were talking low as they passed, and it almostsounded as if they were carrying tools of some sort. Then along towardsmorning I thought I heard them pass again. I'm sure some of them wereswearing. "

"Huh!" says I. "I wonder what they could have been peeved about on sucha fine night?"

"Or I might have been simply dreaming, " she adds. 

"Yes, and then again, " says I, smotherin' a chuckle. 

I could hardly wait to dress and shave before rushin' out to inspect thespot where I'd almost ruined myself only the mornin' before. And it wassomething worth inspectin'. I'll say. Must be nearly half an acre inthat strip and I expect that sod has been growin' for years untouched bythe hand of man. At 6 P. M. Last night it was just a mass of thick grassand dandelions, but now--say, a tractor plough and a gang of prairietamers couldn't have done a more thorough job. If there was a squarefoot that hadn't been torn up I couldn't see it with the naked eye. 

Course, it aint all smooth and even. There was holes here and there, some of 'em three feet deep, but about all the land needed now was alittle rakin' and fillin' in, such as Dominick could do in his sparetime. The cheerin' fact remains that the hard part of the work has beendone, silent and miraculous, and without price. 

I shouts for Vee to come out and see. It ain't often, either, that I canspring anything on her that leaves her stunned and bug-eyed. 

"Why, Torchy!" says she, gaspy. "How in the world did you ever manageit? I--I don't understand. "

"Oh, very simple!" says I. "It's all in havin' the right kind ofneighbors. "

"But you don't mean, " says she, "that you persuaded some of our--oh, I'msure you never could. Besides, you're grinning. Torchy, I want you totell me all about it. Come, now! Exactly what happened last night?"

"Well, " says I, "not being present myself I could hardly tell that. ButI've got a good hunch. "

"What is it!" she insists. 

"From your report of what you heard, " says I, "and from the looks of theground 'n everything, I should judge that the Harbor Hills Exploring andExcavating Co. Had been making a night raid on our property. "

"Pooh!" says Vee. "I never heard of such a company. But if there is one, why should they come here?"

"Oh, just prospectin', I expect, " says I. 

"For what?" demands Vee. 

"For stuff that the 18th amendment says they can't have, " says I. "Gettin' down to brass tacks, for a case of dry gin. "

Even that don't satisfy Vee. She demands why they should dig for anysuch thing on our land. 

"They might have heard some rumor, " says I, "that MacGregor Shinn wentoff and left it buried there. As though a Scotchman could ever get ascareless as that. I don't believe he did. Anyway, some of them smartAlec commuters who were kiddin' me so free yesterday must have worked upblisters of their own. My guess is that they lost some sleep, too. "

You don't have to furnish Vee with a diagram of a joke, you know, beforeshe sees it. At that she squints her eyes and lets out a snicker. 

"I wonder, Torchy, " says she, "who could have started such a rumor?"

"Yes, that's the main mystery, ain't it?" says I. "But your flower bedis about ready, ain't it?"

CHAPTER XX

GIVING 'CHITA A LOOK

I got to admit that there's some drawbacks to being a 100 per centperfect private see. Not that I mind making myself useful around thegeneral offices. I'm always willin' to roll up my sleeves any time andsave the grand old Corrugated Trust from going on the rocks. I'll take astab at anything, from meetin' a strike committee of the AmalgamatedWindow Washers' Union to subbin' in as president for Old Hickory at theannual meetin'. And between times I don't object to makin' myself ashandy as a socket wrench. That is, so long as it's something that has todo with finance, high or low. 

But say, when they get to usin' me in strictly fam'ly affairs, I almostwork up a grouch. Notice the almost. Course, with this fair-and-warmerdisposition of mine I can't quite register. Not with Mr. Robert, anyway. He has such a matey, I-say-old-chap way with him. Like here the otherday when he comes strollin' out from the private office rubbin' his chinpuzzled, stares around for a minute, and then makes straight for mydesk. 

"Well, " says he, "I presume you noted the arrival of the prodigal son;eh, Torchy?"

"Meaning Ambrose the Ambler?" says I. 

"The same, " says he. 

"They will come back even from South America, " says I. "And you wasfigurin', I expect, how that would be a long, wet walk. But then, nothing was ever too wet for Amby, and the only fear he had of water wasthat he might get careless some time and swallow a little. "

"Quite so, " says Mr. Robert, grinnin'. 

You see, this Ambrose Wood party is only an in-law once removed. Maybeyou remember Ferdy, who had the nerve to marry Marjorie Ellins, theheavyweight sister of Mr. Robert's, here a few years back? Well, thatwas when the Ellinses acquired a brunette member of the flock. Ambroseis a full brother of Ferdy's. In every sense. That is, he was in thegood old days when Mr. Volstead was only a name towards the end of rollcall. 

I ought to know more or less about Amby for we had him here in thegeneral offices for quite some time, tryin' to discover if there wasn'tsome sphere of usefulness that would excuse us handin' him a payenvelope once a week. There wasn't. Course, we didn't try him as a paperweight or a door stop. But he had a whirl at almost everything else. Andthe result was a total loss. 

For one thing, time clocks meant no more to Amby than an excursion ad. Would to a Sing Sing lifer. Amby wasn't interested in 'em. He'd driftin among the file room or bond clerks, or whatever bunch he happened tobe inflicted on that particular month, at any old hour, from 10 A. M. Upto 2:30 P. M. Always chirky and chipper about it, too. And his littletales about the parties he'd been to on the night before was usuallyinterestin'. Which was bad for the general morale, as you can guess. Also his light and frivolous way of chuckin' zippy lady stenogs underthe chin and callin' 'em "Dearie" didn't help his standin' any. Yeauh!He was some boy, Amby, while he lasted. Three different times BrotherFerdie was called from his happy home at night to rush down with enoughcash bail to rescue Ambrose from a cold-hearted desk sergeant, and oncehe figured quite prominent on the front page of the morning papers whenhe insisted on confidin' to the judge that him and the young lady in thetaxi was really the king and queen of Staten Island come over to visitupper Broadway. I don't doubt that Amby thought he was something of thekind at the time, too, but you know how the reporters are apt to play upan item of that kind. And of course they had to lug in the fact thatAmbrose was a near-son-in-law of the president of the Corrugated Trust. 

That was where Old Hickory pushed the button for me. "Young man, " sayshe, chewin' his cigar savage, "what should you say was the longeststeamer trip that one could buy a ticket for direct from New York?"

"Why, " says I, "my guess would be Buenos Ayres. "

"Very well, " says he, "engage a one way passage on the next boat and seethat Mr. Ambrose Wood stays aboard until the steamer sails. "

Which I did. Ambrose didn't show any hard feelin's over it. In fact, asI remember, he was quite cheerful. "Tell the old hard boiled egg not toworry about me, " says he. "He may be able to lose me this way for awhile, but I'm not clear off the map yet. I'll be back some day. "

Must have been more 'n three years ago, and as I hadn't heard Amby'sname mentioned in all that time I joined in the general surprise when Isaw him trailin' in dressed so neat and lookin' so fit. 

"On his way to hand Ferdy the glad jolt, eh?" I asks. 

"No, " says Mr. Robert. "Ambrose seems quite willing to postpone meetinghis brother for a day or so. He has just landed, you see, and doesn'tcare to dash madly out into the suburbs. What he wishes most, as Iunderstand, is to take a long, long look at New York. "

"Well, after three years' exile, " says I, "you can hardly blame him forthat. "

Mr. Robert hunches his shoulders. "I suppose one can't, " says he. "Onlyit leaves him on my hands, as it were. Someone must do the familyhonors--dinner, theatre, all that sort of thing. And if I were not tiedup by an important committee meeting out at the country club I should bevery glad to--er--"

"Ye-e-es?" says I, glancin' at him suspicious. 

"You've guessed it, Torchy, " says he. "I must leave them to you. "

"Whaddye mean, them?" says I. "I thought we was talking about Ambrose. "

"Oh, certainly, " says Mr. Robert. "But Mrs. Wood is with him, he says. In fact they came up together. Same boat. They would, you know. Charmingyoung woman. At least, so I inferred from what Ambrose said. One ofthose dark Spanish beauties such as--"

"Check!" says I. "That lets me out. All the Spanish I know is 'Multum inparvo' and I forget just what that means now. I couldn't talk to thelady a-tall. "

But Mr. Robert insists I don't have to be conversational with her, orwith Ambrose, either. All he wants me to do is steer 'em to some nice, refined place regardless of expense, give 'em a welcome-home feed thatwill make 'em forget that the Ellins family is only represented byproxy, tow 'em to some high-class entertainment, like "The BoudoirGirls, " and sort of see that Ambrose lands back at his hotel withouthaving got mixed up with any of his old set. 

"Oh!" says I. "Kind of a he-chaperone act, eh?"

That seems to be the general idea, and as he promises to stop in at thehouse and fix things up for me at home, and pushes a roll of twenties atme to spray around with as I see fit, of course, I has to take the job. I trails in with Mr. Robert while he apologizes elaborate to Ambrose andexplains how he's had to ask me to fill in. 

"Perfectly all right, old man, " says Ambrose. "In fact--well, you getthe idea, eh? The little wife hasn't quite got her bearings yet. Mightfeel better about meeting her new relatives after she's been around abit. And Torchy will do fine. "

He tips me the wink as Mr. Robert hurries off. 

"Same old cut-up, eh, Amby?" says I. 

"Who me?" says he. "No, no! Nothing like that. Old married man, steadyas a church. Uh-huh! Two years and a half in the harness. You ought tosee the happy hacienda we call home down there. Say, it's forty-eightlong miles out of Buenos Ayres. Can you picture that! El Placida's thename of the cute little burg. It looks it. They don't make 'em any moreplacid anywhere. "

"I wonder you picked it then, " says I. 

"I didn't exactly, " says Ambrose. "El Placida rather picked me. Funnyhow things work out sometimes. Got chummy with an old boy going down onthe boat, Senor Alvarado. Showed him how to play Canfield and Russianbank and gave him the prescription for mixing a Hartford stinger. Beforewe crossed the line he thought I was an ace. Wanted to know what I wasgoing to do down in his great country. 'Oh, anything that will keep mein cigarettes, ' says I. 'You come with me and learn the wool business, 'says he. 'It's a bet, ' says I. So instead of being stranded in a strangeland and nibbling the shrubbery for lunch, as my dear brother and theEllinses had doped out, I lands easy on my feet with a salary thatstarts when I walks down the gank plank. Only I have to be in El Placidato draw my pay. "

"But you made good, did you?" I asks. 

"I did as long as Senor Alvarado was around to back me up, " says Amby, "but when he slides down to the city for a week's business trip andturns me over to that Scotch superintendent of his the going got kind ofrough. Mr. McNutt sends me out with a flivver to buy wool around thecountry. Looked easy. Buying things used to be my long suit. I bought alot of wool. But I expect some of them low-browed rancheros must havegypped me good and plenty. Anyway, McNutt threw a fit when he lookedover my bargains. He didn't do a thing but fire me, right off the reel. Honest, I'd never been fired so impetuous or so enthusiastic. He invitesme to get off the place, which means hiking back to Buenos Ayres. 

"Well, what can you do with a Scotchman who's mad clear to the marrow?Especially a rough actor like McNutt. I'd already done a mile from thevillage when along comes 'Chita in her roadster. You know, old manAlvarado's only daughter. Some senorita, 'Chita is. You should have seenthose black eyes of her's flash when she heard how abrupt I'd beenturned loose. 'We shall go straight to papa, ' says she. 'He will tellSenor McNutt where he gets off. ' She meant well, 'Chita. But I had mydoubts. I knew that Alvarado was pretty strong for McNutt. I'd heard himsay there wasn't another man in the Argentine who knew more about woolthan McNutt, and if it came to a showdown as to which of us stayed on Iwouldn't have played myself for a look in. 

"So while 'Chita is stepping on the gas button and handing out a swellline of sympathy I begins to hint that there's one particular reason whyI hated to leave El Placida. Oh, we'd played around some before that. Strictly off stage stuff, though; a little mandolin practice in themoonlight, a few fox trot lessons, and so on. But before the old man I'dlet on to be skirt shy. It went big with him, I noticed. But there inthe car I decides that the only way to keep in touch with the familycheck book is to make a quick bid for 'Chita. So I cut loose with thebest Romeo lines I had in stock. Twice 'Chita nearly ditched us, butfinally she pulls up alongside the road and gives her whole attentionto what I had to say. Oh, they know how to take it, those sonoritas. She'd had a whole string of young rancheros and caballeros danglingaround her for the past two years. But somehow I must have had a luckybreak, for the next thing I knew we'd gone to a fond clinch and it wasall over except the visit to the church. "

"And you married the job, eh?" says I. "Fast work, I'll say. But how didpapa take it?"

"Well, for the first ten minutes, " says Ambrose, "I thought I'd beencaught out in a thunderstorm while an earthquake and a sham battle werebeing staged. But pretty soon he got himself soothed down, patted me onthe shoulder and remarked that maybe I'd do as well as some others thathe hadn't much use for. And while he didn't make McNutt eat his words oranything like that, he gave him to understand that a perfectly goodson-in-law wasn't expected to be such a shark at shopping for wool. Anyway, we've been getting along fairly well ever since. You have to, ina place like El Placida. "

"And this is a little postponed honeymoon tour, eh?" I suggests. 

"Hardly, " says Ambrose. "I hope it's a clean break away from thecontinent of South America in general and El Placida in particular. "

"Oh!" says I. "Will Senor Alvarado stake you to that?"

"He isn't staking anybody now, " says Ambrose. "Uh-huh! Checked out lastwinter. Good old scout. Left everything to 'Chita, the whole works. AndI've been ever since then trying to convince her that the one spot worthliving in anywhere on the map is this little old burg with Broadwayrunning through the middle. "

"That ought to be easy, " says I. 

"Not with a girl who's been brought up to think that Buenos Ayres is thelast word in cities, " says Ambrose. "Why, she's already begun to feelsorry for the bellhops and taxi drivers and salesladies because she'sdiscovered that not one of 'em knows a word of Spanish. Asks me how allthese people manage to amuse themselves evenings with no opera to go to, no band playing on the plaza, and so on. See what I'm up against, Torchy?"

"I get a glimmer, " says I. 

"That's why I'm glad you are going to tow us around, " he goes on, "instead of Bob Ellins. He's a back number, Bob. Me, too, from havingbeen out of it all so long. Why, I've only been scouting about a little, but I can't find any of the old joints. "

"Yes, a lot of 'em have been put out of business, " says I. 

"Must be new ones just as good though, " he insists. "The live wireshave to rally around somewhere. "

"I don't know about that, " says I. "This prohibition has put a crimpin--"

"Oh, you can't tell me!" breaks in Ambrose. "Maybe it's dimmed thelights some in Worcester and Toledo and Waukegan, but not in good oldManhattan. Not much! I know the town too well. Our folks just wouldn'tstand for any of that Sahara bunk. Not for a minute. Might have coveredup a bit--high sign necessary, side entrances only, and all that. Butyou can't run New York without joy water. It's here. And so are the gaylads and lassies who uncork it. We want to mingle with 'em, 'Chita andyours truly. I want her to see the lights where they're brightest, thegirls where they're gayest. Want to show her how the wheels go 'round. You get me; eh, Torchy?"

"Sure!" says I. 

What was the use wastin' any more breath? Besides, I'd been hearin' alot of these young hicks talk big about spots where the lid could bepried off. Maybe it was so. Ambrose and 'Chita should have a look, anyway. And I spent the rest of the afternoon interviewin' sportyacquaintances over the 'phone, gettin' dope on where to hunt for activecapers and poppin' corks. I must say, too, that most of the steers werea little vague. But, then, you can't tell who's who these days, with somany ministers givin' slummin' parties and Federal agents so thick. 

When I sails around to the Plutoria to collect Amby and wife about 6:30I finds 'Chita all gussied up like she was expectin' big doings. Quite astunner she is, with them high voltage black eyes, and the gold earhoops, and in that vivid colored evening gown. And by the sparkle in hereyes I can guess she's all primed for a reg'lar party. 

"How about the old Bonaparte for the eats?" I says to Ambrose. 

"Swell!" says he. "I remember giving a little dinner for four there oncewhen we opened--"

"Yes, I know, " says I. "Here's the taxi. "

Did look like kind of a jolly bunch, too, down there in the olddining-room--orchestra jabbin' away, couple of real Jap girls floatin'around with cigars and cigarettes, and all kinds of glasses on thetables. But you should have seen Amby's jaw drop when he grabs the winelist and starts to give an order. 

"What the blazes is a grenadine cocktail or--or a pineapple punch?" hedemands. 

"By me, " says I. "Why not sample some of it?"

Which he does eager. "Bah!" says he. "Call that a cocktail, do they?Nothing but sweetened water colored up. Here, waiter! Call the chief. "

All Ambrose could get out of the head waiter, though, was shouldershrugs and regrets. Nothing doing in the real red liquor line. "Thechampagne cider iss ver' fine, sir, " he adds. 

"Huh!" says Ambrose. "Ought to be at four fifty a quart. Well, we'lltake a chance. "

Served it in a silver bucket, too. It had the familiar pop, and thebubbles showed plain in the hollow stemmed glasses, but you could drinka gallon of it without feelin' inspired to do anything wilder than callfor a life preserver. 

The roof garden girl-show that we went to afterwards was a zippyperformance, after it's kind. Also there was a bar in the lobby. Ambyshoved up to that prompt--and came back with two pink lemonades, at 75cents a throw. 

"Well, " says I, "ain't there mint on top and a cherry in the bottom?"

"And weak lemonade in between, " grumbles Ambrose. "What do they take mefor, a gold fish?"

"We'll try a cabaret next, " says I. 

We did. They had the place fixed up fancy, too, blue and green toyballoons floatin' around the ceilin', a peacock in a big gold cage, tables ranged around the dancin' space, and the trombone artist puttin'his whole soul into a pumpin' out "The Alcoholic Blues. " And you couldorder most anything off the menu, from a poulet casserole to a cheesesandwich. Amby and 'Chita splurged on a cafe parfait and a grape juicerickey. Other dissipated couples at nearby tables were indulgin' incanapes of caviar and frosted sarsaparillas. But shortly after midnightthe giddy revellers begun to thin out and the girl waiters got yawny. 

"How about a round of strawb'ry ice cream sodas; eh, Amby?" I suggests. 

"No, " says he, "I'm no high school girl. I've put away so much of thatsweet slush now that I'll be bilious for a week. But say, Torchy, honestto goodness, is Broadway like this all the time now?"

"No, " says I. "They're goin' to have a Y. W. C. A. Convention here nextweek and I expect that'll stir things up quite a bit. "

"Sorry, " says Amby, "but I shan't be here. "

"No?" says I. 

"Pos-i-tively, " says Ambrose. "'Chita and I will be on our way back bythat time; back to good old Buenos Ayres, where there's more doing in aminute than happens the whole length of Broadway in a month. And listen, old son; when we open a bottle something besides the pop will come outof it. " "Better hurry, " says I. "Maybe Pussyfoot Johnson's down therenow monkeying with the constitution. "

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SEWELL FORD'S STORIES

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

SHORTY McCABE. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. A very humorous story. The hero, an independent and vigorous thinker, sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way. 

SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy with human nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites for "side-stepping with Shorty. "

SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped right up to the minute. He aids in the right distribution of a "conscience fund, " and gives joy to all concerned. 

SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio for physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at swell yachting parties. 

TORCHY. Illus, by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg. A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to the youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the story of his experiences. 

TRYING OUT TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in the previous book. 

ON WITH TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. Torchy falls desperately in love with "the only girl that ever was, " but that young society woman's aunt tries to keep the young people apart, which brings about many hilariously funny situations. 

TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary tor the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and infectious American slang. 

WILT THOU TORCHY. Illus. By F. Snapp and A. W. Brown. Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West Coast, in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust and with his friend's aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt's permission to place an engagement ring on Vee's finger. 

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JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S STORIES OF ADVENTURE

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

THE RIVER'S END A story of the Royal Mounted Police. 

THE GOLDEN SNARE Thrilling adventures in the Far Northland. 

NOMADS OF THE NORTH The story of a bear-cub and a dog. 

KAZAN The tale of a "quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky" torn between the call of the human and his wild mate. 

BAREE, SON OF KAZAN The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gallant part he played in the lives of a man and a woman. 

THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and his battle with Captain Plum. 

THE DANGER TRAIL A tale of love, Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the North. 

THE HUNTED WOMAN A tale of a great fight in the "valley of gold" for a woman. 

THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH The story of Fort o' God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness is blended with the courtly atmosphere of France. 

THE GRIZZLY KING The story of Thor, the big grizzly. 

ISOBEL A love story of the Far North. 

THE WOLF HUNTERS A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness. 

THE GOLD HUNTERS The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds. 

THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women. 

BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY A thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was made from this book. 

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RALPH CONNOR'S STORIES OF THE NORTHWEST

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THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND The clean-hearted, strong-limbed man of the West leaves his hills and forests to fight the battle for freedom in the old world. 

BLACK ROCK A story of strong men in the mountains of the West. 

THE SKY PILOT A story of cowboy life, abounding in the freshest humor, the truest tenderness and the finest courage. 

THE PROSPECTOR A tale of the foothills and of the man who came to them to lend a hand to the lonely men and women who needed a protector. 

THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY This narrative brings us into contact with elemental and volcanic human nature and with a hero whose power breathes from every word. 

GLENGARRY SCHOOL DAYS In this rough country of Glengarry, Ralph Connor has found human nature in the rough. 

THE DOCTOR The story of a "preacher-doctor" whom big men and reckless men loved for his unselfish life among them. 

THE FOREIGNER A tale of the Saskatchewan and of a "foreigner" who made a brave and winning fight for manhood and love. 

CORPORAL CAMERON This splendid type of the upright, out-of-door man about which Ralph Connor builds all his stories, appears again in this book. 

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THE NOVELS OF GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

THE BEST MAN Through a strange series of adventures a young man finds himself propelled up the aisle of a church and married to a strange girl. 

A VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS On her way West the heroine steps off by mistake at a lonely watertank into a maze of thrilling events. 

THE ENCHANTED BARN Every member of the family will enjoy this spirited chronicle of a young girl's resourcefulness and pluck, and the secret of the "enchanted" barn. 

THE WITNESS The fascinating story of the enormous change an incident wrought in a man's life. 

MARCIA SCHUYLER A picture of ideal girlhood set in the time of full skirts and poke bonnets. 

LO, MICHAEL! A story of unfailing appeal to all who love and understand boys. 

THE MAN OF THE DESERT An intensely moving love story of a man of the desert and a girl of the East pictured against the background of the Far West. 

PHOEBE DEANE A tense and charming love story, told with a grace and a fervor with which only Mrs. Lutz could tell it. 

DAWN OF THE MORNING A romance of the last century with all of its old-fashioned charm. A companion volume to "Marcia Schuyler" and "Phoebe Deane. "

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ELEANOR H. PORTER'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

JUST DAVID The tale of a loveable boy and the place he comes to fill in the hearts of the gruff farmer folk to whose care he is left. 

THE ROAD TO UNDERSTANDING A compelling romance of love and marriage. 

OH, MONEY! MONEY! Stanley Fulton, a wealthy bachelor, to test the dispositions of his relatives, sends them each a check for $100, 000, and then as plain John Smith comes among them to watch the result of his experiment. 

SIX STAR RANCH A wholesome story of a club of six girls and their summer on Six Star Ranch. 

DAWN The story of a blind boy whose courage leads him through the gulf of despair into a final victory gained by dedicating his life to the service of blind soldiers. 

ACROSS THE YEARS Short stories of our own kind and of our own people. Contains some of the best writing Mrs. Porter has done. 

THE TANGLED THREADS In these stories we find the concentrated charm and tenderness of all her other books. 

THE TIE THAT BINDS Intensely human stories told with Mrs. Porter's wonderful talent for warm and vivid character drawing. 

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ETHEL M. DELL'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

THE LAMP IN THE DESERT The scene of this splendid story is laid in India and tells of the lamp of love that continues to shine through all sorts of tribulations to final happiness. 

GREATHEART The story of a cripple whose deformed body conceals a noble soul. 

THE HUNDREDTH CHANCE A hero who worked to win even when there was only "a hundredth chance. "

THE SWINDLER The story of a "bad man's" soul revealed by a woman's faith. 

THE TIDAL WAVE Tales of love and of women who learned to know the true from the false. 

THE SAFETY CURTAIN A very vivid love story of India. The volume also contains four other long stories of equal interest. 

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EDGAR RICE BURROUGH'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

TARZAN THE UNTAMED Tells of Tarzan's return to the life of the ape-man in his search for vengeance on those who took from him his wife and home. 

JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN Records the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan proves his right to ape kingship. 

A PRINCESS OF MARS Forty-three million miles from the earth--a succession of the weirdest and most astounding adventures in fiction. John Carter, American, finds himself on the planet Mars, battling for a beautiful woman, with the Green Men of Mars, terrible creatures fifteen feet high, mounted on horses like dragons. 

THE GODS OF MARS Continuing John Carter's adventures on the Planet Mars, in which he does battle against the ferocious "plant men, " creatures whose mighty tails swished their victims to instant death, and defies Issus, the terrible Goddess of Death, whom all Mars worships and reveres. 

THE WARLORD OF MARS Old acquaintances, made in the two other stories, reappear, Tars Tarkas, Tardos Mors and others. There is a happy ending to the storv in the union of the Warlord, the title conferred upon John Carter, with Drjah Thoris. 

THUVIA, MAID OF MARS The fourth volume of the series. The story centers around the adventures of Carthoris, the son of John Carter and Thuvia, daughter of a Martian Emperor. 

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BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal young people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent of the time when the reader was Seventeen. 

PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a finished, exquisite work. 

PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm. Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen, " this book contains some remarkable phases of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile prankishness that have ever been written. 

THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers. Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a fine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success. 

 THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. A story of love and politics, --more especially a picture of a country editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love interest. 

THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. The "Flirt, " the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement, drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister. 

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