TORCHY AND VEE

BYSEWELL FORDAUTHOR OF TORCHY, THE HOUSE OF TORCHY, SHORTY McCABE, Etc. 

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

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Copyright, 1918, 1919, by SEWELL FORDCopyright, 1919, BY EDWARD J. CLODEAll rights reserved

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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FOREWORD

In the Nature of an Alibi

Some of these stories were written while the Great War was still on. Sothe setting and local coloring and atmosphere and all that sort ofthing, such as it is, came from those strenuous days when we heroiccivilians read the war extras with stern, unflinching eye, bought asmany Liberty bonds as we were told we should, and subscribed to variousdrives as cheerfully as we might. Have you forgotten your reactions of afew short months ago? Perhaps then, these may revive your memory of someof them. 

You may note with disappointment that Torchy got no nearer to thefront-line trenches than Bridgeport, Conn. That is a sentiment thewriter shares with you. But the blame lies with an overcautiousgovernment which hesitated, perhaps from super-humane reasons, fromturning loose on a tottering empire a middle-aged semi-literary personwho was known to handle a typewriter with such reckless abandon. Andwhere he could not go himself he refused to send another. So Torchyremained on this side, and whether or not his stay was a total loss isfor you to decide. S. F. 

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CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I. The Quick Shunt for Puffy 1 II. Old Hickory Bats Up One 19 III. Torchy Pulls the Deep Stuff 37 IV. A Frame-up for Stubby 56 V. The Vamp in the Window 73 VI. Turkeys on the Side 91 VII. Ernie and His Big Night 108 VIII. How Babe Missed His Step 126 IX. Hartley and the G. O. G. 's 145 X. The Case of Old Jonesey 164 XI. As Lucy Lee Passed By 182 XII. Torchy Meets Ellery Bean 200 XIII. Torchy Strays from Broadway 222 XIV. Subbing for the Boss 238 XV. A Late Hunch for Lester 256 XVI. Torchy Tackles a Mystery 272 XVII. With Vincent at the Turn 290

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TORCHY AND VEE

CHAPTER I

THE QUICK SHUNT FOR PUFFY

I must say I didn't get much excited at first over this Marion Graytragedy. You see, I'd just blown in from Cleveland, where I'd beenshunted by the Ordnance Department to report on a new motor kitchen. Andafter spendin' ten days soppin' up information about a machine that wasa cross between a road roller and an owl lunch wagon, and fillin' mysystem with army stews cooked on the fly, I'm suddenly called off. Someone at Washington had discovered that this flying cook-stove thingwas a problem for the Quartermaster's Department, and wires me to dropit. 

So I was all for enjoyin' a little fam'ly reunion, havin' Vee tell mehow she's been gettin' along, and what cute little tricks young MasterRichard had developed while I'm gone. But right in the midst of ourintimate little domestic sketch Vee has to break loose with this outsidesigh stuff. 

"I can't help thinking about poor Marion, " says she. 

"Eh?" says I, lookin' up from the crib where young Snookums has justsettled himself comfortable and decided to tear off a few more hours ofslumber. "Which Marion?"

"Why, Marion Gray, " says she. 

"Oh!" says I. "The old maid with the patient eyes and the sad smile?"

"She is barely thirty, " says Vee. 

"Maybe, " says I; "but she's takin' it hard. "

"Who wouldn't?" says Vee. 

And havin' got that far, I saw I might as well let her get the wholestory off her chest. She's been seein' more and more of this Marion Grayperson ever since we moved out here to Harbor Hills. Kind of a plump, fresh-colored party, and more or less bright and entertainin' in herchat when she was in the right mood. I'd often come in and found Veechucklin' merry over some of the things Miss Gray had been tellin' her. And while she was at our house she seemed full of life and pep. Just thesort that Vee gets along with best. She was the same whenever we met herup at the Ellinses. But outside of that you never saw her anywhere. Shewasn't in with the Country Club set, and most of the young married crowdseemed to pass her up too. 

I didn't know why. Guess I hadn't thought much about it. I knew she'dlost her father and mother within the last year or so, so I expect I putit down to that as the reason she wasn't mixin' much. 

But Vee has all the inside dope. Seems old man Gray had been a chronicinvalid for years. Heart trouble. And durin' all the last of it he'dbeen promisin' to check out constant, but had kept puttin' it off. Meanwhile Mrs. Gray and Marion had been fillin' in as day and nightnurses. He'd been a peevish, grouchy old boy, too, and the more waitin'on he got the more he demanded. Little things. He had to have his foodcooked just so, the chair cushions adjusted, the light just right. Hehad to be read to so many hours a day, and played to, and sung to. Hecouldn't stand it to be alone, not for half an hour. Didn't want tothink, he said. Didn't want to see the women folks knittin' orcrocheting: he wanted 'em to be attending to him all the while. He had alittle silver bell that he kept hung on his chair arm, and when he rangit one or the other of 'em had to jump. Maybe you know the kind. 

Course, the Grays traveled a lot; South in the winter, North insummer--always huntin' a place where he'd feel better, and never findin'it. If he was at the seashore he'd complain that they ought to be in themountains, and when they got there it wouldn't be a week before he haddecided the air was bad for him. They should have known better than totake him there. Most likely one more week would finish him. Another longrailroad trip would anyway. So he might as well stay. But wouldn'tMarion see the landlord and have those fiendish children kept quiet onthat tennis court outside? And wouldn't Mother try to make an eggnogthat didn't taste like a liquid pancake!

Havin' been humorin' his whims a good deal longer than Marion, and notbeing very strong herself, Mrs. Gray finally wore out. And almost beforethey knew anything serious was the matter she was gone. Then it all fellon Marion. Course, if she'd been a paid nurse she never would have stoodfor this continuous double-time act. Or if there was home inspectors, same as there are for factories, the old man would have been jacked upfor violatin' the labor laws. But being only a daughter, there's nobodyto step in and remind him that slavery has gone out of style and that inmost states the female of the species was gettin' to be a reg'larperson. In fact, there was few who thought Marion was doin' any more'nshe had a right to do. Wasn't he her father, and wasn't he payin' allthe bills?

"To be sure, " adds Vee, "he didn't realize what an old tyrant he was. Nor did Marion. She considered it her duty, and never complained. "

"Then I don't see who could have crashed in, " said I. 

"No one could, " said Vee. "That was the pity. "

And it seems for the last couple of years the old boy insisted onsettlin' down in his home here, where he could shuffle off comfortable. He'd been mighty slow about it, though, and when he finally headed Westit was discovered that, through poor managin' and war conditions, theincome they'd been livin' on had shrunk considerable. The fine old housewas left free and clear, but there was hardly enough to keep it upunless Marion could rustle a job somewhere. 

"And all she knows how to do is nurse, " says Vee. "She's not even atrained nurse at that. "

"Ain't there anybody she could marry?" I suggests. 

"That's the tragic part, Torchy, " says Vee. "There is--Mr. Biggies. "

"What, 'Puffy' Biggles!" says I. "Not that old prune face with the shinydome and the baggy eyes?"

Vee says he's the one. He's been hoverin' 'round, like an old buzzard, for three or four years now, playin' chess with the old man while helasted, but always with his pop-eyes fixed on Marion. And since she'sbeen left alone he'd been callin' reg'lar once a week, urging her to behis tootsy-wootsy No. 3. He was the main wheeze in some third-rate lifeinsurance concern, I believe, and fairly well off, and he owned a classyplace over near the Country Club. But he had a 44 belt, a chin like apelican, and he was so short of breath that everybody called him"Puffy" Biggles. Besides, he was fifty. 

"A hot old Romeo he'd make for a nice girl like that, " says I. "Is heher best bet? Ain't there any second choice?"

"There was another, " says Vee. "Rather a nice chap, too--that Mr. ElleryPrescott, who played the organ so well and was some kind of a broker. You remember?"

"Sure!" says I. "The one who pulled down a captain's commission atPlattsburg. Did she have him on the string?"

"They had been friends for a long time, " says Vee. "Were as good asengaged once; though how he managed to see much of Marion I can'timagine, with Mr. Gray so crusty toward him. You see, he didn't playchess. Anyway, he finally gave up. I suppose he's at the front now, andeven if he ever should come back---- Well, Marion seldom mentions him. I'm sure, though, that they thought a good deal of each other. Poorthing! She was crazy to go across as a canteen worker. And now shedoesn't know what to do. Of course, there's always Biggles. If we couldonly save her from that!"

At which remark I grows skittish. I didn't like the way she was gazin'at me. "Ah, come, Vee!" says I. "Lay off that rescue stuff. Adoptin'female orphans of over thirty, or matin' 'em up appropriate is way outof my line. Suppose we pass resolutions of regret in Marion's case, andlet it ride at that?"

"At least, " goes on Vee, "we can do a little something to cheer her up. Mrs. Robert Ellins has asked her for dinner tomorrow night. Us too. "

"Oh, I'll go that far, " says I, "although the last I knew about theEllinses' kitchen squad, it's takin' a chance. "

I was some little prophet, too. I expect Mrs. Robert hadn't been havin'much worse a time with her help than most folks, but three cooks insideof ten days was goin' some. Lots of people had been longer'n thatwithout any, though. But when any pot wrestler can step into a munitionworks or an airplane factory and pull down her three or four dollars aday for an eight-hour shift, what can you expect?

Answer: What we got that night at the Ellinses'. The soup had beenscorched once, but it had been cooled off nicely before it got to us. The fish had been warmed through--barely. And the roast lamb tasted likeit had been put through an embalmin' process. But the cookin' was highart compared to the service, for since their butler had quit to become acrack riveter in a shipyard they've been havin' maids do their platejugglin'. 

And this wide-built fairy, with the eyes that didn't track, sure wasconstructed for anything but glidin' graceful around a dinner table. For one thing, she had the broken-arch roll in her gait, and when shepads in through the swing-door she's just as easy in her motion as a cowwalkin' the quarter-deck with a heavy sea runnin'. Every now and thenshe'd scuff her toe in the rug, and how some of us escaped a soup or agravy bath I can't figure out. Maybe we were in luck. 

Also, she don't mind reachin' in front of you and sidewipin' your earwith her elbow. Accidents like that were merry little jokes to her. 

"Ox-cuse me, Mister!" she'd pipe out shrill and childish, and thenindulged in a maniac giggle that would get Mrs. Robert grippin' thechair arms. 

She liked to be chatty and folksy while she was servin', too. Her mottoseemed to be, "Eat hearty and give the house a good name. " If youdidn't, she tried to coax you into it, or it into you. 

"Oh, do have some more of th' meat, Miss, " she says to Vee. "And anotherpotato, now. Just one more, Miss. "

And all Mrs. Robert can do is pink up, and when she's out of hearin'apologize for her. "As you see, " says Mrs. Robert, "she is hardly atrained waitress. "

"She'd make a swell auctioneer, though, " I suggests. 

"No doubt, " says Mrs. Robert. "And I suppose I am fortunate enough tohave anyone in the kitchen at all, even to do the cooking--such as itis. "

"You ain't lonesome in feelin' that way, " says I. "It seems to be ageneral complaint. "

Which brings out harrowin' tales of war-wrecked homes, where no buttlinghad been done for months, where chauffeurs and gardeners were onlyrepresented by stars on the service flag, and from which even personalmaids had gone to be stenographers and nurses. But chiefly it was themissin' cook who was mourned. Some had quit to follow their men totrainin' camps, a lot had copped out better payin' jobs, and others hadbeen lured to town, where they could get the fake war extras hot off thepress and earn higher wages as well. 

Course, there were some substitute cooks--reformed laundresses, rawamateurs and back numbers that should have reached the age limit longbefore. And pretty awful cookin' they were gettin' away with. Vee hadheard of one who boiled the lettuce and sent in dog biscuit one mornin'for breakfast cereal. Miss Gray told what happened at the PembertonBrookses when their kitchen queen had left for Bridgeport, where she hada hubby makin' seventy-five dollars a week. The Brookses had lived forthree days on cream toast and sardines, which was all the upstairs girlhad in her culinary repertoire. 

"And look at me, " added Marion, "with our old family cook, who can makethe best things in the world, and I can hardly afford to keep her! But Icouldn't drive her away if I tried. "

Course, with our havin' Professor and Madame Battou, the old Frenchcouple we'd annexed over a year ago in town, we had no kick comin'. Noteven the sugar and flour shortage seemed to trouble them, and our fancymeals continued regular as clock work. But on the way home Vee and I gotto talkin' about what hard times the neighbors was havin'. 

"I guess what they need out here, " says I, "is one of them armykitchens, that would roll around two or three times a day deliverin' hotnourishment from door to door. "

And I'd hardly finished what I'd meant for a playful little remarkbefore Vee stops sudden, right in the middle of the road, and lets outan excited squeal. 

"Torchy!" says she. "Why on earth didn't you suggest that before!"

"Because this foolish streak has just hit me, " says I. 

"But it's the very thing, " says she, clappin' her hands. 

"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. 

"For Marion, " says she. "Don't you see?"

"But she's no perambulatin' rotisserie, is she?" says I. 

"She might be, " says Vee. "And she shall. "

"Oh, very well, " says I. "If you've decided it that way, I expect shewill. But I don't quite get you. "

When Vee first connects with one of her bright ideas, though, she's aptto be a little puzzlin' in her remarks about it. As a matter of fact, her scheme is a bit hazy, but she's sure it's a winner. 

"Listen, Torchy, " says she. "Here are all these Harbor Hillspeople--perhaps a hundred families--many of them with poor cooks, somewith none at all. And there is Marion with that perfectly splendid oldMartha of hers, who could cook for all of them. "

"Oh, I see, " says I. "Marion hangs out a table-board sign?"

"Stupid!" says Vee. "She does nothing of the sort. People don't want togo out for their meals; they want to eat at home. Well, Marion bringsthem their meals, all deliciously cooked, all hot, and ready to serve. "

"With the kitchen range loaded on a truck and Martha passin' out soupand roasts over the tailboard, eh?" says I. 

But once more I've missed. No, the plan is to get a lot of them armycontainers, such as they send hot chow up to the front trenches in; have'em filled by Martha at home, and delivered by Marion to her customers. 

"It might work, " says I. "It would need some capital, though. She'd haveto invest in a lot of containers, and she'd need a motor truck. "

"I will buy those, " says Vee. "I'm going in with her. "

"Oh, come!" says I. "You'd look nice, wouldn't you!"

"You mean that people would talk?" comes back Vee. "What do I care? It'squite as patriotic and quite as necessary as Red Cross work, or anythingelse. It would be scientific food conservation, man-power saving, allthat sort of thing. And think what a wonderful thing it would be for theneighborhood. "

"Maybe Marion wouldn't see it that way, " I suggests. "Drivin' a dinnertruck around might not appeal to her. You got to remember she's more orless of an old maid. She might have notions. "

"Trust her, " says Vee. "But I mean to have my plan all worked out beforeI tell her a word. When you go to town tomorrow, Torchy, I want you tofind out all about those containers--how much the various compartmentswill hold, and how much they cost. Also about a light motor truck. Therewill be other details, too, which I will be thinking about. "

Yes, there were other details. Nobody seemed to know much about such abusiness. It had been tried in places. Vee heard of something of thesort that was being tested up on the East Side. So it was three or fourdays before she was ready to spring this new career on Marion. But onenight, after dinner, she announces that she's all set and drags me downthere with her. Outside of the old Gray house we finds a limousine, withthe driver dozin' inside. 

"It's the Biggles car!" whispers Vee. "Oh, what if he should be----Come, Torchy! Quick!"

"You wouldn't break in on a fond clinch, would you?" I asks. 

"If it came to that, certainly, " says Vee, pushin' the front-door buttondetermined. 

I expect she would have, too. But Biggles hadn't got that far--notquite. He's on the mat all right, though, with his fat face sort offlushed and his eyes popped more'n usual. And Marion Gray seems to besort of fussed, too. She is some tinted up under the eyes, and when shesees who it is she glances at Vee sort of appealin'. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry to interrupt, " says Vee, marchin' right in and takin'Marion by the arm. "You'll pardon me, I hope, Mr. Biggles, but I mustspeak to Miss Gray at once about--about something very important. "

And almost before "Puffy" Biggles knows what's happened he's leftstaring at an empty armchair. 

In the cozy little library Vee pushes Marion down on a window seat andcamps beside her. Trust Vee for jabbin, ' the probe right in, too. 

"Tell me, " she demands whispery, "was--was he at it again?"

Marion pinks up more'n ever. And, say, with them shy brown eyes of hers, and all the curves, she ain't so hard to look at. "Yes, " admits Marion. "You see, I had promised to give him a final answer tonight. "

"But surely, Marion, " says Vee, "you'd never in the world tell him thatyou----"

"I don't know, " breaks in Marion, her voice trembly. "There seems to benothing else. "

"Isn't there, though!" says Vee. "Just you wait until you hear. "

And with that she plunges into a rapid outline sketch of this dinnerdispensary stunt, quotin' facts and figures and givin' a profit estimatethat sounded more or less generous to me. 

"So you see, " she goes on enthusiastic, "you could keep your home, andyou could keep Martha, and you would be doing something perfectlysplendid for the whole community. Besides, you would be entirelyindependent of--of everyone. "

"But do you think I could do it?" asks Marion. 

"I know you could, " says Vee. "Anyway, we could between us. I willfurnish the capital, and keep the accounts and help you plan the dailymenus. You will do the marketing and delivering. Martha will do thecooking. And there you are! We may have to start with only a few familyorders at first, but others will come in fast. You'll see. "

By that time Marion was catching the fever. Her eyes brighten and herchin comes up. 

"I believe we could do it, " says she. 

"And you're willing to try?" asks Vee. 

Marion nods. 

"Then, " says Vee, "Mr. Biggles ought to be told that he needn't waitaround any longer. "

"Oh, I don't see how I can, " wails Marion. "He--he's such a----"

"A sticker, eh? I know, " says Vee. "And it's a shame that he should haveanother chance to bother you. Torchy, don't you suppose you could do itfor her?"

"What?" says I. "Break it to Biggles? Why, I could do it swell. Leave itto me. I'll shunt him on the siding so quick he won't know he's everbeen on the main track. "

I don't waste any diplomatic language doin' it, either. On my way inwhere he's waiting I passes through the hall and gathers up his newderby and yellow gloves, holdin' 'em behind me as I breaks in on him. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Biggles, " says I, "but it's all off. "

"I--I beg pardon?" says he, gazin' at me fish-eyed and stupid. 

"Ah, let's not run around in circles, " says I. "Miss Gray presents hercompliments, and all that sort of stuff, but she's goin' into anotherline. If you must know, she's going to bust up the cook combine, andfrom now on she'll be mighty busy. Get me?"

Biggles stiffens and stares at me haughty. "I don't in the leastunderstand anything of all this, " says he. "I had an appointment withMarion for this evening; something quite important to--to us both. I mayas well tell you that I had asked Marion a momentous question. I amwaiting for her answer. "

"Well, here it is, " says I, holdin' out the hat. 

Biggles, he gurgles something indignant and turns purple in the gills, but he ends by snatchin' away the derby and marchin' stiff to the door. 

"Understand, " says he, with his hand on the knob, "I do not accept yourimpertinence as a reply. I--I shall see Marion again. "

"Sure you will, " says I. "She'll be around to get your dinner orderearly next week. "

"Bah!" says Biggles, bangin' the door behind him. 

But, say, inside of five minutes he'd been wiped off the slate, and themtwo girls was plannin' their hot-food campaign as busy and excited as ifit was Marion's church weddin' they were doping out. It's after midnightbefore they breaks away, too. 

You know Vee, though. She ain't one to start things and then quit. She'sa stayer. And some grand little hustler, too. By Monday mornin' theHarbor Hills Community Kitchen Co. Was a going concern. And before theweek was out they had more'n forty families on the standin' order list, with new squads of soup scorchers bein' fired every day. 

What got a gasp out of me was the first time I gets sight of Marion Grayin her working rig. Nothing old-maidish about that costume. Not so you'dnotice. She's gone the limit--khaki riding pants, leather leggins and azippy cloth cap cut on the overseas pattern. None of them Women's MotorCorps girls had anything on her. And maybe she ain't some picture, too, as she jumps in behind the wheel of the truck and steps on the gaspedal!

Also, I was some jarred to learn that the enterprise was a payin' onealmost from the start. Folks was just tickled to death with havin'perfectly good meals, well cooked, well seasoned and pipin' hot, setdown at their back doors prompt every day, with no fractious fryin'-panpirates growlin' around the kitchens, and no local food profiteerssoakin' 'em with big weekly bills. 

This has been goin' on a month, when one day as I comes home Vee greetsme with a flyin' tackle. 

"Oh, Torchy!" she squeals, "what do you think has happened?"

"I know, " says I. "Baby's cut a tooth. "

"No, " says she. "It's--it's about Marion. "

"Oh!" says I. "She ain't bumped somebody with the truck, has she?"

"How absurd!" says Vee. "But, listen, Captain Ellery Prescott has comeback. "

"What! The old favorite?" says I. "But I thought he was over withPershing?"

"Not yet, " says Vee. "He has been out at some Western camp trainingrecruits all this time. But now he has his orders. He is to sail verysoon. And he's seen Marion. "

"Has he?" said I. "Did it give him a jolt, or what?"

Vee giggles and pulls my head down so she can whisper in my ear. "Hethought her perfectly stunning, as she is, of course. And they're to bemarried day after tomorrow. "

"Z-z-z-zing!" says I. "That puts a crimp in the ready-made dinnerbusiness, I expect. "

"Not at all, " says Vee. "Until he comes back, after the war, Marion isgoing to carry on. "

"Anyway, " says I, "it ends 'Puffy' Biggies as an impendin' tragedy, don't it? And I expect that's worth while, too. "

CHAPTER II

OLD HICKORY BATS UP ONE

Anybody would most think I'd been with the Corrugated Trust long enoughto know that Old Hickory Ellins generally gets what he wants, whetherit's quick action from an office boy or a two-thirds majority vote fromthe board of directors. But once in a while I seem to forget, andshortly after that I'm wonderin' if it was a tank I went up against sosolid, or if someone threw the bond safe at me. 

What let me in wrong this last time was a snappy little remark I gotshot my way right here in the general offices. I was just back from athree-days' chase after a delayed shipment of bridge girders and steelwheelbarrows that was billed for France in a rush, and I'd got myselfdisliked by most of the traffic managers between here and Altoona, tosay nothing of freight conductors, yard bosses and so on. But I'duntangled those nine cars and got 'em movin' toward the North River, andnow I was steamin' through a lot of office detail that had piled upwhile I was gone. I'd lunched luxurious on an egg sandwich and a wardoughnut that Vincent had brought up to me from the arcade automat, andI'd 'phoned Vee that I might not be out home until the 11:13, when inblows this potty party with the poison ivy leaves on his shoulder strapsand demands to see Mr. Ellins at once. Course, it's me with my heelstogether doin' the zippy salute. 

"Sorry, major, " says I, "but Mr. Ellins won't be in until 10:30. "

"Hah!" says he, like bitin' off a piece of glass. "And who are you, lieutenant!"

"Special detail from the Ordnance Department, sir, " says I. 

"Oh, you are, eh?" he snorts. "Another bomb-proofer! Well, tell Mr. Ellins I shall be back at 11:15--if this sector hasn't been captured inthe meantime, " and as he double-quicks out he near runs down Mr. Piddie, our rubber-stamp office manager, who has towed him in. 

As for me, I stands there swallowin' air bubbles until my red-haireddisposition got below the boiling point once more. Then I turns toPiddie. 

"You heard, didn't you?" says I. 

Piddie nods. "But I don't quite understand, " says he. "What did he meanby--er--bomb-proofer?"

"Just rank flattery, Piddie, " says I. "The rankest kind. It's his way ofindicatin' that I'm a yellow dog hidin' under a roll-top desk for fearsomeone'll kick me out where a parlor Pomeranian will look cross at me. Excuse me if I don't seem to work up a blush. Fact is, though, I'mgettin' kind of used to it. "

"Oh, I say, though!" protests Piddie. "Why, everyone knows that you----"

"That's where you're dead wrong, Piddie, " I breaks in. "What everybodyreally knows is that while most of the young hicks who've beenPlattsburged into uniforms are already across Periscope Pond helpin'swat the Hun, I'm still floatin' around here with nothing worse than cardust on my tailor-built khaki. Why, even them bold Liberty bond patriotswho commute on the 8:03 are tired of asking me when I'm going to be sentover to tell Pershing how it ought to be done. But when it comes to anold crab of a swivel chair major chuckin' 'bomb-proofer' in myteeth--well, I guess that'll be about all. Here's where I get a reviseor quit. Right here. "

And it was sentiments like that, only maybe worded not quite so brash, that I passed out to Old Hickory a little later on. He listens about assympathetic as a traffic cop hearin' why you tried to rush the stopsignal. 

"I think we have discussed all that before, young man, " says he. "TheWar Department has recognized that, as the head of an essentialindustry, I am entitled to a private secretary; also that you mightprove more useful with a commission than without one. And I ratherthink you have. So there you are. "

"Excuse me, Mr. Ellins, " says I, "but I can't see it that way. I don'tknow whether I'm private seccing or getting ready for a masquerade ball. Any one-legged man could do what I'm doing. I'm ready to chuck thecommission and enlist. "

"Really!" says he. "Well, in the first place, my son, a war-timecommission is something one doesn't chuck back at the United Statesgovernment because of any personal whim. It isn't being done. And thenagain, you tried enlisting once, didn't you, and were turned down?"

"But that was early in the game, " says I, "when the recruiting officersweren't passing any but young Sandows. I could get by now. Have a heart, Mr. Ellins. Lemme make a try. "

He chews his cigar a minute, drums thoughtful on the mahogany desk, andthen seems to have a bright little idea. 

"Very well, Torchy, " says he, "we'll see what my friend, Major Wellby, can do for you when he comes in. "

"Him!" says I. "Why, he'd do anything for me that the law didn't stophim from. "

And sure enough, when the major drifts in again them two was shut in theprivate office for more'n half an hour before I'm called in. I couldguess just by the way the major glares fond at me that if he could workit he'd get me a nice, easy job mowin' the grass in No Man's Land, orsome snap like that. 

"Huh!" says he, givin' me the night court up and down. "Wants an activecommand, does he? And his training has been what? Four years as officeboy, three as private secretary! It's no use, Ellins. We're not fightingthis war with waste baskets or typewriters, you know. "

"Oh, come, major!" puts in Old Hickory. "Why be unreasonable about this?I will admit that you may be right, so far as it's being folly to sendthis young man to the front. But I do insist that as a lieutenant he israther useful just where he is. "

"Bah!" snorts the major. "So is the farmer who's raising hogs and corn. He's useful. But we don't put shoulder straps on him, or send him toFrance in command of a company. For jobs like that we try to findyoungsters who've been trained to handle men; who know how to get thingsdone. What we don't want is--eh? Someone calling me on the 'phone? Allright. Yes, this is Major Wellby. What? Oh, it can't be done today! Yes, yes! I understand all that. But see here, captain, that transport is dueto sail at--hey, central! I say, central! Oh, what's the use?"

And as the major bangs up the receiver his face looks like a strawb'ryshortcake just ready to serve. Somehow Mr. Ellins seems to be enjoyin'the major's rush of temperament to the ears. Anyhow, there's a familiarflicker under them bushy eyebrows of his and I ain't at all surprisedwhen he remarks soothin': "I gather, major, that someone can't seem toget something done. "

"Precisely, " says the major, moppin' a few pearly beads off his shinydome. "And when a regular army captain makes up his mind that a thingcan't be done--well, it's hopeless, that's all. In this instance, however, I fear he's right, worse luck!"

"Anyway, " suggests Mr. Ellins, "he has made you think that the thing isimpossible, eh?"

"Think!" growls the major, glancin' suspicious at Old Hickory. "I say, Ellins, what are you getting at? Still harping on that red tape notion, are you? Perhaps you imagine this to be a case where, if you could onlyturn loose your wonderful organization, you could work a miracle?"

"No, major, " says Old Hickory. "We don't claim to work in miracles; butwhen we decide that a thing ought to be done at a certain time--well, generally it gets done. "

"Just like that, eh?" grins the major sarcastic. "Really, Ellins, youbig business men are too good to be true. But see here; why not tap youramazing efficiency for my benefit. This little job, for instance, whichone of our poor misguided captains reports as impossible within the timelimit. I suppose you would merely press a button and----"

"Not even that, " breaks in Mr. Ellins. "I would simply turn it over toTorchy here--and he'd do it. "

The major glances at me careless and shrugs his shoulders. "My dearEllins, " says he, "you probably don't realize it, but that's the sort ofstuff which adds to the horrors of war. Here you haven't the vaguestidea as to what----"

"Perhaps, " cuts in Old Hickory, "but I'll bet you a hundred totwenty-five. "

"Taken, " says the major. Then he turns to me. "When can you start, lieutenant?"

"As soon as I know where I'm starting for, sir, " says I. 

"How convenient, " says he. "Well, then, here is an order on the New YorkTelephone Co. For five spools of wire which you'll find stored somewhereon Central Park South. See if you can get 'em. "

"Yes, sir, " says I. "And suppose I can?"

"Report to me at the Plutoria before 5:30 this afternoon, " says he. "Ishall be having tea there. Ellins, you'd better be on hand, too, so thatI can collect that hundred. "

And that's all there was to it. I'm handed a slip of paper carrying theQuartermaster General's O. K. , and while these two old sports are stillchucklin' at each other I've grabbed my uniform cap off the roll-top andhave caught an express elevator. 

Course, I expected a frame-up. All them army officers are hard boiledeggs when it comes to risking real money, and I knew the major mustthink his twenty-five was as safe as if he'd invested it in thriftstamps. As for Old Hickory Ellins, he'd toss away a hundred any time onthe chance of pulling a good bluff. So I indulges in a shadowy littlegrin myself and beats it up town. 

Simple enough to locate them spools of wire. Oh, yes. They're right inthe middle of the block between Sixth and Broadway, tucked awayinconspicuous among as choice a collection of contractor's junk as youcan find anywhere in town, and that's sayin' a good deal. But maybeyou've noticed what's been happenin' along there where Fifty-ninthstreet gets high-toned? Looks like an earthquake had wandered by, butit's only that down below they're connectin' the new subway with anotherEast river tunnel. And if there's anything in the way of old derricks, or scrap iron, or wooden beams, or construction sheds that ain't beenleft lying around on top it's because they didn't have it on hand toleave. 

Cute little things, them spools are, too; about six feet high, threewide, and weighin' a ton or so each, I should judge. And to make thejob of movin' 'em all the merrier an old cement mixer has been at workright next to 'em and the surplus concrete has been thrown out untilthey've been bedded in as solid as so many bridge piers. I climbs aroundand takes a look. 

"How cunnin'!" says I. "Why, they'd make the Rock of Ages look like aloose front tooth. And all I got to do is pull 'em up by the roots, oneat a time. Ha, ha! Likewise, tee-hee!"

It sized up like a bad case of bee bite with me at the wrong end of thestinger. Still, I was just mulish enough to stick around. I had nearlythree hours left before I'd have to listen to the major's mirthsomecackle, and I might as well spend part of it thinkin' up fool schemes. So I walks around that cluster of cement-set spools some more. I evenclimbs on top of one and gazes up and down the block. 

They were still doing things to make it look less like a city street andmore like the ruins of Louvain. Down near the Fifth Avenue gates was thefenced-in mouth of a shaft that led somewhere into the bowels ofManhattan. And while I was lookin' out climbs a dago, unrolls a dirtyred flag, and holds up the traffic until a dull "boom" announces thatthe offensive is all over for half an hour or so. Up towards ColumbusCircle more industry was goin' on. A steam roller was smoothin' out astrip of pavement that had just been relaid, and nearer by a gang wastearin' up more of the asphalt. I got kind of interested in the way theywas doin' it, too. You know, they used to do this street wreckin' withpicks and crowbars, but this crowd seemed to have more modern methods. They was usin' three of these pneumatic drills and they sure wereripping it up slick and speedy. About then I noticed that theircompressor was chugging away nearly opposite me and that the lines ofhose stretched out fifty feet or more. 

"Say!" says I jerky and breathless, but to nobody in particular. I wasjust registerin' the fact that I'd had a sudden thought. 

A few minutes before, too, I'd seen a squad of rookies wander past andinto the park. I remembered noticin' what a husky, tanned lot they were, and from their hat cords that they belonged to the artillery branch. Well, that was enough. In a flash I'd shinned over the stone wall andwas headin' 'em off. 

You know how these cantonment delegations wander around town aimlesswhen they're dumped down here on leave waiting to be shunted off quietonto some transport? No friends, mighty little money, and nothing to dobut tramp the streets or hang around the Y. They actually looked kind ofgrateful when I stops 'em and returns their salute. As luck would haveit there's a top sergeant in the bunch, so I don't have to make areg'lar speech. 

"It's this way, sergeant, " says I. "I'm looking for a few volunteers. "

"There's ten of us, sir, " says he, "with not a thing on our hands buttime. "

"Then perhaps you'll help me put over something on a boss ditch digger, "says I. "It's nothing official, but it may help General Pershing a wholelot. "

"We sure will, " says the sergeant. "Now then, men. 'Shun! And forgetthose dope sticks for a minute. How'll you have 'em, lieutenant--twos orfours?"

"Twos will look more impressive, I guess, " says I. "And just follow me. "

"Fall in!" says the sergeant. "By twos! Right about! March!"

So when I rounds into the street again and bears down on this gangforeman I has him bug-eyed from the start. He don't seem to know whetherhe's being pinched or not. 

"What's your name, my man?" says I, wavin' the Q. M. 's orderthreatenin'. 

It's Mike something or other, as I could have guessed without him nearchokin' to get it out. 

"Very well, Mike, " I goes on, as important as I knew how. "See thosespools over there that you people have done your best to bury? Well, those have been requisitioned from the Telephone Company by the U. S. Army. Here's the order. Now I want you to get busy with your drill gangand cut 'em loose. "

"But--but see here, boss, " sputters Mike, "'tis a private contractthey're workin' on and I couldn't be after----"

"Couldn't, eh?" says I. "Lemme tell you something. That wire has to goon a transport that's due to sail the first thing in the morning. It'sfor the Signal Corps and they need it to stretch a headquarters' lineinto Berlin. "

"Sorry, boss, " said Mike, "but I wouldn't dast to----"

"Sergeant, " says I, "do your duty. "

Uh-huh! That got Mike all right. And when we'd yanked him up off hisknees and convinced him that he wouldn't be shot for an hour or so yethe's so thankful that he gets those drills to work in record time. 

It was a first-class hunch, if I do have to admit it myself. You shouldhave seen how neat them rapid fire machines begun unbuttonin' those bigwooden spools, specially after a couple of our doughboy squad, who'dworked pneumatic riveters back home, took hold of the drills. Othersfished some hand sledges and crowbars out of a tool shed and helped thework along, while Mike encourages his gang with a fluent line of foremanrepartee. 

Course, I didn't have the whole thing doped out at the start, butgettin' away with this first stab only showed me how easy it was if youwasn't bashful about callin' for help. From then on I didn't let muchassistance get away from me, either. Yankin' the spools out to thestreet level by hookin' on the steam roller was my next play, butcommandeerin' a sand blast outfit that was at work halfway down theblock was all Mike's idea. 

"They need smoothin' up a bit, boss, " says he. 

And inside of half an hour we had all five of them spools lookin' newand bright, like they'd just come from the mill. 

"What next, sir?" asks the sergeant. 

"Why, " says I, "the fussy old major who's so hot for getting thesethings is waiting at the Plutoria, about ten blocks down. Maybe he wants'em there. I wonder if we could----"

"Sure!" says the sergeant. "This heavy gun bunch can move anything. Here! I'll show 'em how. "

With that he runs a crowbar through the center of one of the spools, puts a man on either side to push, and rolls it along as easy aswheelin' a baby carriage. 

"Swell tactics, sergeant, " says I. "And just for that I'm goin' toprovide your squad with a little music. Might as well do this in style, eh? Wait a minute. "

And it wasn't long before I was back from another dash into the parktowin' half a drum corps that I'd borrowed from some Junior NavalReserves that was drillin' over on the ballfield. 

So it was some nifty little parade that I finally lines up to lead downFifth Avenue. First there's me, then the drum corps, then the sergeantand his men rollin' them spools of wire. We strings out for more'n ablock. 

You'd think New Yorkers were so used to parades by this time that youcouldn't get 'em stretchin' their necks for anything less'n a regimentof hand-picked heroes. They've seen the French Blue Devils at closerange, gawped at the Belgians, and chummed with the Anzacs. But, say, this spool-pushin' stunt was a new one on 'em. Folks just lined the curband stared. Then some bird starts to cheer and it's taken up all downthe line, just on faith. 

"Hey, pipe the new rollin' tanks!" shouts someone. 

"Gwan!" sings out another wise guy. "Them's wooden bombs they're goin'to drop on Willie. "

It's the first time I've been counted in on any of this hooray stuff, and I can't say I hated it. At the same time I tried not to look toochesty. But when I wheeled the procession into the side street and got'em bunched two deep in front of the Plutoria's carriage entrance Iain't sure but what I was wearin' kind of a satisfied grin. 

Not for long, though. The six-foot taxi starter in the rear admiral'suniform jumps right in with the prompt protest. He wants to know whatthe blinkety-blink I think I'm doin', blockin' up his right of way inthat fashion. 

"You can't do it! Take 'em away!" says he. 

"Ah, keep the lid on, old Goulash, " says I. "Sergeant, if he gets messy, roll one of those spools on him. I'll be back shortly. "

With that I blows into the Plutoria and hunts up the tea room. Themajor's there, all right, and Mr. Ellins, also a couple of ladies. They're just bein' served with Oolong and caviar sandwiches. 

"Ah!" says the major, as he spots me. "Our gallant young officelieutenant, eh? Well, sir, anything to report?"

"The spools are outside, sir, " says I. 

"Wh--a--at!" he gasps. 

"Where'll you have 'em put, sir?" says I. 

About then, though, in trails the taxi starter, the manager and a braceof house detectives. 

"That's him!" says the starter, pointin' me out. "He's the one that'sblockin' traffic. "

I will say this for the major, though, he's a good sport. He comes rightto the front and takes all the blame. 

"I'm responsible, " he tells the manager. "It's perfectly all right, too. Military necessity, sir. Well, perhaps you don't like it, but I'll haveyou understand, sir, I could block off your whole street if I wished. Soclear out, all of you. "

"Why, Horace!" puts in one of the ladies, grabbin' him by the arm. 

"Yes, yes, my dear, " says the major. "I know. No scene. Certainly not. Only these hotel persons must be put in their place. And if you willexcuse me for a moment I'll see what can be done. Come, lieutenant. Iwant to get a look at those spools myself. "

Well, he did. "But--but I understood, " says he, "that they were stuck inconcrete or something of the kind. "

"Yes, sir, " says I. "We had to unstick 'em. Pneumatic drills and a steamroller. Very simple. "

"Great Scott!" says he. "Why didn't that fool captain think of---- But, see here, I don't want 'em here. Now, if we could only get them to Pier14----"

"That would be a long way to roll 'em, sir, " says I, "but it could bedone. Loadin' 'em on a couple of army trucks would be easier, though. There's a Quartermaster's depot at the foot of Fifty-seventh Street, youknow. "

"So there is, " says he. "I'll call them up. Come in, will you, lieutenant and--and join us at tea? You've earned it, I think. "

Three minutes more and the major announces that the trucks are on theway. 

"Which means, Ellins, " he adds, "that you win your twenty-five. Here youare. "

"If you don't mind, " says Old Hickory, "I'll keep this and pass on myhundred to Torchy here. He might like to entertain his volunteer squadwith it. "

Did I? Say, when I got through showin' that bunch of far West artilleryhusks how to put in a real pleasant evening along Broadway there wasn'tenough change left to buy a sportin' extra. But they'd had chow in thegiddiest lobster palace under the white lights, they'd occupied twoboxes at the zippiest girl show in town and they was loaded down withcigarettes and chocolate enough to last 'em clear to France. 

The next mornin', when Old Hickory comes paddin' into the generaloffices, he stops to pat me friendly on the shoulder. 

"I think we have succeeded in revising the major's opinion, " he remarks, "as to the general utility of bomb-proofers in certain instances. "

I grins up at him. "Then, " says I, "do I get a recommend for active dutywithin jabbin' distance of the Huns?"

"We did consider that, " says Old Hickory, "but the decision was just asI suspected from the first. The major says it would be a shame to wasteyou on anything less than a divisional command, and there aren't enoughof those to go around. Chiefly, though, he thinks that anyone who isable to get things done in New York in the wizard-like way that you canshould be kept within call of Governor's Island. So I fear, Torchy, that you and I will have to go on serving our country right here. "

"All right, Mr. Ellins, " says I. "I expect you win--as per usual. "

CHAPTER III

TORCHY PULLS THE DEEP STUFF

Course, I didn't know what Old Hickory was stackin' me up against whenhe calls me into the private office and tells me to shake hands withthis Mr. McCrea. Kind of a short, stubby party he is, with a grayishmustache and sort of sleepy gray eyes. He's one of these slow motioned, quiet talking ginks, with restful ways, such as would fit easy into aswivel chair and hold down a third vice-president's job for life. Or hemight be a champion chess player. 

So when the boss goes on to say how Mr. McCrea is connected with theWashington sleuth bureau I expect I must have gawped at him a bitcurious. Some relic of the old office force, was my guess; a hold-overfrom the times when the S. S. People called it a big day if they couldlocate a lead nickel fact'ry in Mulberry Street, or drop on a few Chinklaundrymen bein' run in from Canada in crates. Maybe he was athumb-print expert. 

"Howdy, " says I, glancin' up at the clock to see if the prospects wasgood for makin' the 5:17 out to Harbor Hills. 

"I am told you know the town rather well, " suggests McCrea, sort ofmild and apologetic. 

"Me!" says I. "Oh, I can usually find my way back to Broadway even infoggy weather. "

He indulges in a flickery little smile. "I also understand, " he goes on, "that you have shown yourself to be somewhat quick witted inemergencies. "

"I must have a good press agent, then, " says I, glancin' accusin' at Mr. Ellins. 

But Old Hickory shakes his head. "I suspect that was my friend, MajorWellby, " says he. 

"Oh!" says I. "The one I rescued the wire spools for? A lucky break, that was. "

"Mr. McCrea is working on something rather more important, " goes on OldHickory, "and if you can help him in any way I trust you will do it. "

"Sure, " says I. "What's the grand little idea?"

He don't seem enthusiastic about openin' up, McCrea, and I don't know asI blame him much. After he's fished a note book out of his inside pockethe stops and looks me over sort of doubtful. "Perhaps I had better sayat the start, " says he, "that some of our best men have been on this jobfor several weeks. "

"Nursin' it along, eh?" says I. 

That brings a smothered chuckle from Old Hickory. But Mr. McCrea don'tseem so tickled over it. In fact, he develops a furrow between the eyesand his next remark ain't quite so soothin'. 

"No doubt if they could have had the assistance of your rapid firementality a little sooner, " says he, "it would have been but a matter ofa few hours. "

"There's no telling, " says I. "Are you one of the new squad?"

Here Old Hickory chokes down another gurgle and breaks in hasty with:"Mr. McCrea, Torchy, is assistant chief of the bureau, you know. "

"Gosh!" says I, under my breath. "My mistake, sir. And I expect I'dbetter back out now, while the backin's good. "

"Wouldn't that be rather hard on us?" asks McCrea, liftin' his eyebrowssarcastic. "Besides, think how disappointed the major will be if we failto make use of such remarkable ability as he has assured us youpossess. "

It's a kid, all right, even if he does put it so smooth. And by thetwinkle in Old Hickory's eye I can see he's enjoyin' it just as much asMcCrea. Nothing partial about the boss. His sympathies are always withthe good performer. And rather than let this top-liner sleuth put itover me so easy I takes a chance on shootin' a little more bull. 

"Oh, if you're goin' to feel bad over it, " says I, "course I got to helpyou out. Now what part of Manhattan is it that's got yoursuper-Sherlocks guessin' so hard?"

He smiles condescendin' and unfolds a neat little diagram showin' aBroadway corner and part of the cross street. "It is a matter of threepolicemen and a barber shop, " says he. "Here, in the basement of thishotel on the corner, is the barber shop. "

"Yes, I remember, " says I. "Otto something or other runs it. And on theside, I expect, he does plain and fancy spyin', eh?"

"We should be much interested to have you furnish proof of that, " saysMcCrea. "What we suspect, however, is something slightly different. Webelieve that the place is rather a clearing house for spy information. News seems to reach there and to leave there. What we wish to know is, how. "

"Had anyone on the inside?" I asks. 

"Yes, that bright little idea occurred to us, " says McCrea. "One of ourmen has been operating a chair there for three weeks. He discoverednothing of importance. Also we have had the place watched from theoutside, to no purpose. So you see how crude our methods must havebeen. "

"Oh, I ain't knockin' 'em, " says I. "Maybe they was out of luck. Butwhat about the three cops?"

"Their beats terminate at this corner, " says McCrea, "one from uptown, one from downtown, and the third from the east. And we have good reasonto suppose that one of the three is crooked. Now if you can tell uswhich one, and how information can come and go----"

"I get you, " I breaks in. "All you want of me is the answer to a lot ofquestions you've been all the fall workin' up. That's some he-sizedorder, ain't it?"

McCrea shrugs his shoulder. "As I mentioned, I think, " says he, "it wasMajor Wellby who suggested your assistance; and as the major happens toenjoy the confidence of--well, someone who is a person of considerableimportance in Washington----"

"Uh-huh!" says I. "It's a case of my bein' wished on you and youstandin' by with the laugh when I fall down. Oh, very well! I'll be thegoat. But the major's a good scout, just the same, and I don't mean tothrow him without making a stab. How long do I get on this?"

"Oh, as long as you like, " says McCrea. 

"Thanks, " says I. "Where do I find you when I want to turn in a report, blank or otherwise?"

He gives me the name of his hotel and after collectin' the diagram ofthe mystery I does a slow exit to my desk in the next office. I wassittin' there half an hour later with my hair rumpled, makin' a noiselike deep thinkin', when in walks the hand of fate steppin' heavy onhis heels, as usual. 

Not that I suspected at the time this Barry Wales could be anything muchmore than a good natured pest. He didn't used to be even that. No, thechange in Barry is only another little item in the score we got againstthe Kaiser; for back in the days before we went into the war Barry wasjust one of Mr. Robert's club friends who dropped around casual to dateup for an after-luncheon game of billiards, or tip him off to a newcabaret act that was worth engagin' a table next to the gold ropes. Besides, holdin' quite a block of Corrugated stock, I expect Barryfigured it as a day's work when he got me to show him the lastsemi-annual report and figure out what his dividends would tot up to. Outside of that he was a bar-hound and more or less of a windowornament. 

But the war sure had made a mess of Barry. I don't mean that he wentover and got shell shocked or gassed. Too far past thirty for that, andhe had too many things the matter with him. Oh, I had all the detailsdirect; bad heart, plumbing out of whack, nerves frazzled from too manyall-night sessions. He was in that shape to begin with. But he didn'tstart braggin' about it until so many of his bunch got to makin'themselves useful in different ways. Mr. Robert, for instance, gettin'sent out in command of a coast patrol boat; others breakin' into RedCross work, ship buildin' and so on. Barry claims he tried 'em all andwas turned down. 

But is he discouraged? Not Barry. If they won't put him in uniform, withcute little dew-dads on his shoulder, or let him wear $28 puttees thatwill take a mahogany finish, there's nothing to prevent him from turnin'loose that mighty intellect of his and inventin' new ways to win thewar. So when he's sittin' there in his favorite window at the club, starin' absent minded out on Fifth Avenue with a tall glass at hiselbow, he ain't half the slacker he looks to the people on top of thegreen buses. 

Not accordin' to Barry. Ten to one he's just developin' a new idea. Maybe it's only a design for a thrift stamp poster, but it might be ascheme for inducin' the Swiss to send their navy down the Rhine. Butwhatever it is, as soon as Barry gets it halfway thought out, he has totrot around and tell about it. 

So when I glance up and see this tall, well tailored party standin' atmy elbow, and notice the eager, excited look in his pale blue eyes, Iknow about what to expect. 

"Well, what is it this time, Barry?" says I. "Have you doped out anexplosive pretzel, or are you goin' to turn milliner and release somewoman for war work?"

"Oh, I say, Torchy!" he protests. "No chaffing, now. I'm in deadearnest, you know. Of course, being all shot to pieces physically, Ican't go to the front, where I'd give my neck to be. Why, with thisleaky heart valve of mine I couldn't even----"

"Yes, yes, " I broke in. "We've been over all that. Not that I'd mindhearing it again, but just now I'm more or less busy. "

"Are you, though?" says Barry. "Isn't that perfectly ripping! Somethingimportant, I suppose?"

"Might be if I could pull it off, " says I, "but as it stands----"

"That's it!" says Barry. "I was hoping I'd find you starting somethingnew. That's why I came. "

"Eh?" says I. 

"I'm volunteering--under you, " says he. "I'll be anything you say; topsergeant, corporal, or just plain private. Anything so I can help. See!I am yours to command, Lieutenant Torchy, " and he does a Boy Scoutsalute. 

"Sorry, " says I, "but I don't see how I could use you just now. The factis, I can't even say what I'm working on. "

"Oh, perfectly bully!" says Barry. "You needn't tell me a word, or dropa hint. Just give me my orders, lieutenant, and let me carry on. "

Well, instead of shooin' him off I'd only got him stickin' tighter'n awad of gum to a typewriter's wrist watch, and after trying to do somemore heavy thinkin' with him watchin' admirin' from where I'd plantedhim in a corner, I gives it up. 

"All right, " says I. "Think you could stand another manicure today?"

Barry glances at his polished nails doubtful but allows he could if it'sin the line of duty. 

"It is, " says I. "I'm goin' to sacrifice some of my red hair on thealtar of human freedom. Come along. "

So, all unsuspectin' where he was goin', I leads him down into Otto'sbarber shop. And I must say, as a raid in force, it was more or less ofa fizzle. The scissors artist who revises my pink-plus locks is agray-haired old gink who'd never been nearer Berlin than First Avenue. Two of the other barbers looked like Greeks, and even Otto had clippedthe ends of his Prussian lip whisker. Nobody in the place made a noiselike a spy, and the only satisfaction I got was in lettin' Barry pay thechecks. 

"I got to go somewhere and think, " says I. 

"How about a nice quiet dinner at the club?" says Barry. 

"That don't listen so bad, " says I. 

And it wasn't, either. Barry insists on spreadin' himself with theorderin', and don't even complain about havin' to chase out to the barto take his drinks, on account of my being in uniform. 

"Makes me feel as if I were doing my bit, you know, " says he. 

"Talk about noble sacrifices!" says I. "Why, you'll be qualifyin' for aD. S. O. If you keep on, Barry. "

And along about the _baba au rhum_ period I did get my fingers on thetall feathers of an idea. Nothing much, but so long as Barry was anxiousto be used, I thought I saw a way. 

"Suppose anybody around the club could dig up a screwdriver for you?" Iasks. 

Inside of two minutes Barry had everybody in sight on the jump, from thebus boy to the steward, and in with the demi tasse came the screwdriver. 

"Now what, lieutenant?" demands Barry. 

"S-s-s-h!" says I, mysterious. "We got to drill around until midnight. "

"Why not at the Follies, then?" suggests Barry. 

"Swell thought!" says I. 

And for this brand of active service I couldn't have picked a better manthan Barry. From our box seats he points out the cute little squab withthe big eyes, third from the end, and even gets one of the soloistssingin' a patriotic chorus at us. On the strength of which Barry makestwo more trips down to the café. Not that he gets primed enough so you'dnotice it. Nothing like that. Only he grows more enthusiastic over theidea of being useful in the great cause. 

"Remember, lieutenant, " says he as we drifts out with the midnight push, "I'm under orders. Eh?"

"Sure thing, " says I. "You're about to get 'em, too. Did you ever dosuch a thing as steal a barber's pole?"

Barry couldn't remember that he ever had. 

"Well, " says I, "that's what you're goin' to do now. "

"Which one?" asks Barry. 

"Otto's, " says I. "From the joint where we were just before dinner. "

"Right, lieutenant, " says Barry, givin' his salute. 

"And listen, " says I. "You're dead set on havin' that particular pole. Understand? You want it bad. And after you get it you ain't goin' to letanybody get it away from you, no matter what happens, until I give theword. That's your cue. "

"Trust me, lieutenant, " says Barry, straightenin' up. "I shall stand bythe pole. "

Sounds simple, don't it? But that's the way all us great minds work, along lines like that. And the foolisher we look at the start the deeperwe're apt to be divin' after the plot of the piece. Don't miss that. What's a bent hairpin in the mud to you? While to us--boy, page old DocWatson. 

How many times, for instance, do you suppose you've walked past theHotel Northumberland? Yet did you ever notice that the barber shopentrance was exactly twenty paces east on Umpteenth Street from thecorner of Broadway; that you go down three iron steps to a landin'before you turn for the other 15; or that the barber pole has a gilt topwith blue stars in it, and is swung out on a single bracket with twoscrews on each side? I points out all this to Barry as we strolls downfrom the theater district. 

"By jove!" says Barry. "Wonderful!"

"Ain't it?" says I. "And all done without a change of wig or a jab ofthe needle. Now your part is easy. You simply drift down the sidestreet, step into the shadow where the cab stand juts out, and whennobody's passin' you work the screws loose. Me, I got to drop into thewritin' room and dash something off. Here we are. Go to it. "

Course, he could have bugged things. Might have dropped the screwdriverthrough a grating, or got himself caught in the act. But Barry hassurrounded the idea nicely. He couldn't have done better if he'd beensent out to a listenin' post. And when I strolls out again five minuteslater there he stands with the pole tucked careful under one arm. 

"Fine work!" says I. "But we don't want to hide it altogether. Carry itcareless like, with your overcoat unbuttoned, so both ends will show. That's the cheese!"

It ain't one of these big, vulgar barber poles, you know; not over fourfeet long and about as many inches thick. But it's a brilliant one, andwith Barry in evenin' dress he's bound to be some conspicuous luggin'it. Yet I starts him straight up Broadway, me trailin' 25 or 30 feetbehind. 

If it had been further up town he might have collected quite a mob offollowers, but down here there's only a few passing at that time ofnight. Most of 'em only turns to look after him and smile. One or twogives him the merry hail and asks where the Class of 1910 is holdin' thebanquet. 

He'd done nearly five blocks before a flatfoot steps out of a doorwayand waves a nightstick at him. 

"Hey, whaddye mean, pullin' that hick stuff?" demands the cop. 

"Sir!" says Barry, wavin' him off dignified. 

Then I mixes in. "It's perfectly all right, officer, " says I. "I knowhim. "

"Oh, do you?" says the cop. "Well, some of you army guys know a lot; andthen again some of you don't. But you can't get away with any suchcut-up motions on my beat. "

"But listen, " I begins, "I can explain how----"

"Ah, feed it to the sergeant, " says he. "Come along, you, " and he takesBarry by the arm. 

Being a quiet night in the precinct the desk sergeant had plenty of timeto listen. He'd just decided against Barry, too, when I sprung my scrapof paper on him. It's a receipt in full for one barber's pole, signed byOtto Krumpheimer. I knew it was O. K. Because I'd signed it myself. 

"How about that?" asks the sergeant of the cop. 

And all the flatty can do is gaze at it and scratch his head. 

"No case, " says the sergeant. "Beat it, you. "

Then I nudges Barry. He speaks up prompt, too. "I want my little barberpole, " says he. 

"Ah, take it along, " says the sergeant, disgusted. 

"Sorry, officer, " says I, as we drifts out, and I slips him a fivecasual. 

"Enjoy yourselves, boys, " says he. "But pick out another beat. "

Which we done. This time we starts from the Northumberland and walkseast. Barry had got almost to Madison Avenue before another eagle-eyedcopper holds him up. He does it more or less rough, too. 

"Drop that, now!" says he. 

"Certainly not, " says Barry, lyin' enthusiastic. "It's my pole. "

"Is it, then?" says the cop. "Maybe you can show the sergeant yet? Andmaybe I don't know where you pinched it. Walk along, now. "

You should have seen the desk sergeant grow purple in the gills when weshows up in front of the rail the second time. "Say, what do you sportsthink you're doin', anyway?" he demands. 

"I'll make a charge of petty larceny and disorderly conduct, " says thecop, layin' the evidence on the desk. 

"Will you, Myers?" says the sergeant sarcastic. "Didn't ask him if hehad a receipt, I suppose? Show it to him, lieutenant. "

I grins and hands over the paper. 

"Hah!" grunts Myers. "But Otto Krumpheimer don't sign his name likethat. Never. "

"How do you know?" says I. 

"Why, " says Myers, scrapin' his foot nervous, "I--I just know, that'sall. I've seen his writin', plenty times. "

"Hear that, sergeant, " says I. "Just jot that down, will you?"

"Night court, " says the sergeant. 

"Never mind, Barry, " says I. "Line of duty. And I'll be on hand by thetime your case is called. "

"Right-o!" says Barry cheerful. 

Myers, he was ambitious to lug us both along, but the sergeant couldn'tsee it that way. So while Barry's bein' walked off to police court, Ijumps into a taxi and heads for McCrea's hotel. If he'd been in bed Imeant to rout him out. But he wasn't. I finds him in his room havin' aconfab with two other plain clothes gents. He seems surprised to see meso quick. 

"Well?" says he. "Giving up so soon?"

"Me?" says I. "Hardly! I've got the crooked cop. "

McCrea gives a gasp. "You--you have?" says he. 

"Yep!" says I. "But he's got my assistant. Can you pull a badge oranything on the judge at the night court?"

Mr. McCrea thought he could. And he sure worked the charm, for afterwhisperin' a few words across the bench it's all fixed up. Barry getsthe nod that he's free to go. 

"May I take my little barber pole?" demands Barry. 

"No, no!" speaks up Myers. "Don't let him have it, Judge. "

"Silence!" roars the Justice. Then, turnin' to a court officer he says:"Take this policeman to Headquarters for investigation. Yes, Mr. Wales, you may have your pole, but I should advise you to carry it home in acab. "

"Thank you kindly, sir, " says Barry. But after he gets outside he askspleadin': "Don't I get arrested any more?"

I shakes my head. "It's all over for tonight, Barry, " says I. "Objectiveattained, and if you don't mind I'll take charge of this war loot. Dropyou at your club, shall we?"

So I still had the striped pole when we rolled up at McCrea's hotel. Iwas shiftin' it around in the taxi, wonderin' where I'd better dump it, when I made the big discovery. 

"Say, " I whispers husky to McCrea, "there's something funny about this. "

"The pole?" says he. 

"Uh-huh!" says I. "It's hollow. There's a little trap door in one side. "

"Hah!" says McCrea. "Bring it up. "

And you'd think by the way him and his friends proceeded to hog thething, that it was their find. After I'd shown 'em where to press thesecret spring they crowded around and blocked off my view. All I got wasa glimpse of some papers that they dug out of the inside somewhere. Andsome excited they are as they paws 'em over. 

"In the same old code, " says McCrea. 

But finally he leads me to one side. "Myers is the man, all right, " sayshe. 

"Course he is, " says I. "If he wasn't why would he be so wise as towhose pole it was, or about Otto's handwritin'?"

"Ah!" says McCrea, noddin' enthusiastic. "So that was your system inhaving your friend arrested? You tried out the officers. Very clever!But how you came to suspect that the barber's pole was being used as amail box I don't understand. "

"No, " says I, "you wouldn't. That's where the deep stuff comes in. "

McCrea takes that with a smile. "Lieutenant, " says he, "I shall bepleased to report to Major Wellby that his estimate of you was quitecorrect. And allow me to say that I believe you have done for theGovernment a great service tonight; though how you managed it so neatlyI'll be hanged if I see. And--er--I think that will be all. " With whichhe urges me polite towards the door. 

But it wasn't all. Not quite. I hear there's something on the way to mefrom the chief himself, and Old Hickory has been chucklin' around forthree days. Also I've had a hunch that one boss barber and one New Yorkcop have done the vanishing act. Anyway, when I was down to theNorthumberland yesterday for a shave there was no Otto in sight, and thebarber pole was still missin'. That's about all the information that'scome my way. 

Barry Wales don't know even that much. But when he comes in to reportfor further orders, as he does frequent now, he has his chest out andhis chin up. 

"I say, lieutenant, " he remarks confidential this last trip, "we putsomething over, didn't we?"

"I expect we did, " says I. 

"But what was it all about, eh?" he whispers. 

"Why, " says I, "you got pinched twice without losin' your amateurstandin', and one of the stripes opened in the middle. When they tell methe rest I'll pass it on to you. "

"By George! Will you, though?" says Barry, and after executin' anotherBoy Scout salute he goes off perfectly satisfied. 

CHAPTER IV

A FRAME-UP FOR STUBBY

I expect I shouldn't have been so finicky. I ain't as a rule. My usualplay is to press the button and take whoever is sent in from the generaloffice. But the last young lady typist they'd wished on me must haveeased in on the job with a diploma from some hair-dressin'establishment. She got real haughty when I pointed out that we was usingonly one "l" in Albany now, but nothing I could say would keep her fromwriting Bridgeport as two words. 

And such a careless way she had of parking her gum on the corner of mydesk and forgettin' to retrieve it. So with four or five more folios todo on a report I was makin' to the Ordnance Department, I puts it up toMr. Piddie personally to pick the best he can spare. 

"Course, " says I, "I don't expect to get Old Hickory's star performer, but I thought you might have one of the old guard left; one that didn'tlearn her spellin' by the touch method, at least. "

Piddie sighs. Since so many of his key-pounders has gone to polishin'shell noses, or sailed to do canteen work, he's been having a poor timekeeping up his office force. "Do you know, Torchy, " says he, "I haven'tone left that I can guarantee; but suppose you try Miss Casey, who hasjust joined. "

She wouldn't have been my choice if I'd been doin' the pickin'. One ofthese tall, limber young females, Miss Casey is, about as thick as adrink of water, but strong on hair and eyes. She glides in willowy, drapes herself on a chair, pats her home-grown ear-muffs into shape, andunfolds her note book business-like. And inside of two minutes she'sdoing the Pitman stuff in jazz time, with no call for repeats exceptwhen I'd shoot a string of figures at her. I was handin' myself thecomfortin' thought, too, that I'd drawn a prize. 

We breezes along on the report until near lunch time with never a hitchuntil I gets to this paragraph where I mentions Camp Mills, and the nextthing I know she has stopped short and is snifflin' through her nose. 

"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at her. "Have I been feedin' it at you toospeedy?"

"N--no, " says she, "bub--but that's where Stub is--Camp Mills--and itgot to me sudden. "

"Oh!" says I. "And Stub is a brother or something?"

"He--he--Well, there!" says she, holdin' out her left hand anddisplayin' a turquoise set with chip diamonds. 

"Sorry, " says I, "but I couldn't tell from the service pin, youunderstand, when some wears 'em for second cousins. And anyway, the nameof the camp had to----"

"'Sall right, " snuffles Miss Casey. "I had no call spillin' the weepsdurin' business hours. I wouldn't of either, only I had another sessionwith his old lady this mornin' and she sort of got me stirred up. "

"Mother taking it hard, is she?" I asks. 

"You've said sumpin, " admits Miss Casey, unbuttonin' a locket vanitycase and repairin' the damage done to her facial frescoin' with a fewgraceful jabs. "Not but what I ain't strong for Stub Mears myself. He'sall right, Stub is, even if he never could qualify in a beautycompetition with Jack Pickford or Mr. Doug. Fairbanks. He's good comp'nyand all that, and now he's in the army I expect he'll ditch thatambition of his to be the champion heavy-weight pool player of the WestSide. 

"But to hear Mrs. Mears talk you'd think he was one of the props of theuniverse, and that when the new draft got Stub it was a case whereCongress ought to stop and draw a long breath. Uh-huh! She's 100 percent. Mother, Mrs. Mears is, and it looks like some of it was catchin'for me to get leaky-eyed just at mention of the camp he's in. Oh, lady, lady! Excuse it, please, sir. "

Which I does cheerful enough. And just to prove I ain't any slavedriver I sort of eggs Miss Casey on, from then until the noon hour, tochat away about this war romance of hers. Seems Mr. Mears could havebeen in Class B, on account of his widowed mother and him being aplumber's helper when he had time to spare from his pool practicin'. Livin' in the same block, they'd been acquainted for quite some time, too. 

No, it hadn't been anything serious first off. She'd gone with him tothe annual ball of Union 26 for two years in succession and to such likeimportant social events. But there'd been other fellers. Two or three. And one had a perfectly swell job as manager of a United Cigar branch. Stub had been a great one for stickin' around, though, and when heshowed up in his uniform--well, that clinched things. 

"It wasn't so much the khaki stuff I fell for, " confides Miss Casey, gazin' sentimental at a ham sandwich she's just unwrapped, "as it wasthe i-dear back of it. It's in the blood, you might say, for I had anuncle in the Spanish-American and a grandfather in the Civil War. Sowhen Mr. Mears tells me how, when it comes time for him to go over thetop, the one he'll be thinkin' most of will be me--Say, that got to mestrong. 'You win, Stubby, ' says I. 'Flash the ring. '

"That's how it was staged, all in one scene. And later when that JakeHorwitz from the United shop comes around sportin' his instalmentLiberty bond button, but backin' his fallen arches to keep him exempt, Igives him the cold eye. 'Nix on the coo business, Mister Horwitz, ' saysI, 'for when I hold out my ear for that it's got to come from a reg'larman. Get me?' Which is a good deal the same I hands the others. 

"But say, between you and I, it's mighty lonesome work. You see, I'dfigured how Stub would be blowin' in from camp every now and then, andwe'd be doin' the Sunday afternoon parade up and down the block, withall the girls stretchin' their necks after us. You know? Well, he's beenat the blessed camp near three months now and not once since that firstflyin' trip has he showed up here. 

"Which is why I've been droppin' in on his old lady so often, tryin' todope why he shouldn't be let off, same as the others. Mrs. Mears, she'sall primed with the notion that her Edgar has been makin' himself souseful down there that the colonel would get all balled up in his workif he didn't keep Stub right on the job. 'See, ' says she, wavin' apicture post card at me, 'he's been appointed on the K. P. Squad again. 'Honest, she thinks he's something like a Knights of Pythias and goesmarchin' around important with a plume in his hat and a gold sword. Mothers are easy, ain't they? You can bet though, that Stub don't try tobuffalo little old me with anything like that. What he writes me, whichain't much, is mostly that his top sergeant's a grouch or that they'vebeen quarantined on account of influenza. So I sends him back the bestadvice I've got in stock, askin' him why he don't buck up on his drill, keep his equipment clean, and shift that potato peelin' work to some ofthe new squads. 

"Course, I don't spill any of this to Mrs. Mears. Poor soul! She's gottroubles enough, right in her joints. Rheumatism. Uh-huh. Most of thetime she has to get around in a wheel chair. Ain't that fierce? And shewas mighty nervy about sendin' Stubby off. Wouldn't let him say a wordabout exemption. No, sir! 'Never mind me, Edgar, ' says she. 'You kill alot of Huns. I'll get along somehow. ' That's talkin', ain't it? And herlivin' with a sister-in-law that has a disposition like a green parrot!

"So I can't find much fault with her when she sort of overdoes the fondmother act. Seems to me they might let him off now and then, even if hedoes miss a few bugle calls, or forgets some of the rules andregulations. And this bug of hers about wonderin' when and how what he'sdoin' for his country is goin' to be reco'nized proper--Well, I don'tdebate that with her at all. For one thing I don't get just exactly whatshe wants; whether it's for the President to write her a special letterof thanks, or for Mr. Baker to make Stubby a captain or something rightoff. Anyway, she don't feel that Edgar's bein' treated right. He ain'teven had his name in the papers and only a few of the neighbors seem toknow he's a hero. Yep, it's foolish of her, I expect, but I let herunload it all on me without dodgin'. I've even promised to see what canbe done about it. I--I'd been thinkin', sir, about askin' you. "

"Eh?" says I, "Me? Oh, I couldn't think of a thing. "

"But if I could, sir, " goes on Miss Casey, "would--would you help out alittle? She's an old lady, you know, and all crippled up, and Stubbyhe's all she's got left and----"

"Why, sure, " I breaks in. "I'd do what I could. "

I throws it off casual as I'm grabbin' my hat on my way out to lunch. And I supposed that would be all there'd be to it. But I hadn't gotmore'n half a line on Miss Casey. She's no easy quitter, that younglady. Having let me in on her little affair, she seems to think it's nomore'n right I should be kept posted. A day or so later she lugs in apicture of Private Mears, one of the muddy printed post-card effectssuch as these roadside tripod artists take of the buddy boys around thecamps. 

"That's him, " says she. "Looks kind of swell in the uniform, don't he?"

It was a fact. Stubby not only looks swell--but swelling. And it's luckythem army buttons are sewed on tight or else a good snappy salute wouldwreck him from the chin down. He's a sturdy, bulgy party, 'speciallyabout the leggins. 

"That's right, too, " says Miss Casey. "Know what I tell him? If he canfight like he can eat, good-night Kaiser Bill. But at that they've paredfifteen pounds off him since he's been in the service. "

"It's a great life, " says I. 

"Maybe, " sighs Miss Casey, "but I wisht they'd let me have a close-up ofhim before they risk loadin' him on a transport. That's all I gotagainst the Government. You ain't thought of any way it might be worked, have you?"

I had to admit that I hadn't, not addin' I didn't expect to. And I musthave been stallin' along that line for a week or more until the forenoonwhen Vee blows in unexpected durin' a shoppin' trip and announces that Imay take her out to luncheon. 

"Fine!" says I. "Just as soon as I give two more letters to Miss Casey. "

In the middle of the second one though, there's a call for me to go intothe private office, and when I comes back from a ten-minute interviewwith Old Hickory I finds Vee and Miss Casey chattin' away like oldfriends. Vee is being told all about Stubby and the hard-boiled eggs hehas for company officers. 

"Three months without a furlough!" says Vee. "Isn't that a shame, Torchy? What is the number of his regiment?"

Miss Casey reels it off, addin' the company and division. 

"Really!" says Vee. "Why, that's the company Captain Woodhouse commands. You remember him, Torchy?"

"Oh, yes! Woodie, " says I. "I'd most forgotten him. "

"I am going to call him up on the long distance right now, " says Vee. 

And in spite of all my lay-off signals she does it. Gets the captain, too. Yes, Woodie knows the case and he regrets to report that PrivateMears's record isn't a good one; three times in the guardhouse andanother week of K. P. Coming to him. Under these circumstances he don'tquite see how----

"Oh, come, captain!" puts in Vee coaxin'. "Don't be disagreeable. He'sengaged, you know. Such a nice girl. And then there is his poor oldmother who has seen him only once since he was drafted. Please, Woodie!"

I expect it was the "Woodie" that worked the trick. You see, thisWoodhouse party used to think he was in the runnin' with Vee himself, way back when Auntie was doin' her best to discourage my littlecampaign, and although he quit and picked another several years ago Idon't suppose he minds bein' called Woodie by Vee, even now. Anyway, after consultin' one of his lieutenants he gives her the word that ifPrivate Mears don't pull any more cut-up stuff between now and a weekfrom Wednesday he'll probably have forty-eight hours comin' to him. 

And for a minute there I thought both Vee and I were let in for a fondclinch act with Miss Casey. As it is she takes it out in pattin' Vee'shand and callin' her Dearie. 

"A week Wednesday, eh?" says Miss Casey. "Say, ain't that grand! Andbelieve muh, I mean to work up some little party for Stubby. It's duehim, and the old lady. "

"Of course it is, " agrees Vee. "And Torchy, you must do all you can tohelp. "

"Very well, major, " says I, salutin'. 

And from then on I reports to Vee. It's only the next night that I givesher the first bulletin from the front. "What do you know?" says I. "MissCasey has a hunch that she might organize a block party for the bignight. I don't know whether she can swing it or not, but that's herscheme. "

"But what on earth is a block party, Torchy?" Vee demands. 

"Why, " I explains, "it's a small town stunt that's being used in thecity these days. Very popular, too. They get all the people in the blockto chip in for a celebration--decorations, music, ice cream, allthat--and generally they raise a block service flag. It takes someorganizin', though. "

"How perfectly splendid!" says Vee. "And that is just where you can beuseful. "

So that's how I come to spend that next evenin' trottin' up and downthis block in the sixties between Ninth and Amsterdam. I must say itdidn't look specially promisin' as a place to work up community spiritand that sort of thing. Just a dingy row of old style dumb-bell flats, most of 'em with "Room to Rent" signs hung out and little basement shopstucked in here and there. Maybe you know the kind--the asphalt alwayslittered with paper, garbage cans left out, and swarms of kids playin'tip-cat or dashin' about on roller skates. Cheap and messy. And to judgeby the names on the letter boxes you'd say the tenants had been shippedin from every country on the map. Anyway, our noble allies was wellrepresented--with the French and Italians in the lead and the rest madeup of Irish, Jews, Poles and I don't know what else. Everything butstraight Americans. 

Yet when you come to count up the service flags in the front windows youhad to admit that Miss Casey's block must have a good many reg'larcitizens in it at that. There was more blue stars in evidence than you'dfind on any three brownstone front blocks down on Madison or up in theSeventies. One flag had four, and none of 'em stood for butlers orchauffeurs. Course, some was only faded cotton, a few nothing butcolored paper, but every star stood for a soldier, and I'll bet therewasn't a bomb-proofer in the lot. 

Whether you could get these people together on any kind of a celebrationor not was another question. We begins with Mike's place, on the corner. 

"Sure!" says Mike. "Let's have a party. I'll ante twenty-five. And, say, I got a cousin in the Knights of Columbus who'll give you some tips onhow to manage the thing. "

The little old Frenchy in the Parisian hand laundry gave us a boost, too. Even J. Streblitz, high-class tailoring for ladies and gents, chipped in a ten and told us about his boy Herman, who'd been made acorporal and was at Chateau Thierry. Inside of three hours we'd made asketchy canvas of the whole block, got half a dozen of the men to go onthe committee, had over $100 subscribed, and the thing was under way. 

"I just knew you could do it, " says Vee, when I tells her about thestart that's been made. 

"Me!" says I. "Why it was mostly Miss Casey. About all I did was tagalong and watch her work up the enthusiasm. She's some breeze, she is. When I left her she was plannin' on two bands and free ice cream foreveryone who came. "

As a matter of fact, that's about all I had to do with it, after thefirst push. Miss Casey must have had a busy week, but she don't lay downonce on her reg'lar work nor beg for any time off. All she asks is ifVee and me couldn't be persuaded to be on hand Wednesday night as guestsof honor. 

"We wouldn't miss it for anything, " says I. 

Well, we didn't. I'd heard more or less about these block parties, butI'd never been to one. Course, I wasn't sure just how Vee would take itgettin' mixed up in a mob like that, but I was bankin' on her being agood sport. Besides, she was wild to go and see how Miss Casey had madeout. 

And say, when we swings in off Ninth Avenue and I gets my first glimpseof what had been done to that scrubby, messy lookin' block, it got agasp out of me. First off there was strings of Japanese lanterns withelectric lights in 'em stretched across the street from the front ofevery flat buildin' to the one opposite. Also every doorway and windowwas draped and decorated with bunting. Then there was all kinds offlags, from little ten centers to big twenty footers swung across thestreet. There was a whackin' big Irish flag loaned by the A. O. H. ; twoItalian flags almost as big; I don't know how many French tri-colors andsome I couldn't place; Czecho-Slovaks maybe. And besides the lanternsand extra arc-lights there was red fire burnin' liberal. Then at eitherend of the block was a truck backed up with a band in it and they wastearin' away at all kinds of tunes from the "Marseillaise" to"K-k-k-katie, " while bumpin' and bobbin' about on the asphalt werehundreds of couples doing jazz steps and gettin' pelted with confetti. 

"Why, it's almost like the Mardi Gras!" says Vee. 

"Looks festive, all right, " says I. "And I should say Miss Casey has putover the real thing. I wonder if we can find her in this mob. "

Seemed like a hopeless search, but finally, down in the middle of theblock, I spots an old lady in a wheel chair, and I has a hunch it mightbe Mrs. Mears. Sure enough, it is. Not much to look at, she ain't; sortof humped over, with a shawl 'round her shoulders. But say, when you gota glimpse of the way her old eyes was lighted up, and saw the smileflickerin' around her lips, you knew that nobody in that whole crowd wasany happier than she was just at that minute. 

"Oh, yes, " says she. "Minnie Casey is looking for you two young folks. She's dancing with Edgar now, but they'll be back soon. Haven't seen myson Edgar, have you? Well, you must. He--he's a soldier, you know. "

"We should be delighted, " says Vee. And then she whispers to me: "Hasn'tshe a nice face, though?"

We hadn't waited long before I sees a tall, willowy young thing wearin'one of them zippy French tams come bearin' down on us wavin' energeticand towin' along a red-faced young doughboy who looks like he'd beenstuffed into his uniform by a sausage machine. It's Minnie and Stub. 

"Hello, folks!" she sings out. "Say, I was just wonderin' if you wasgoin' to renig on me. Fine work! An' I want you to meet one of the mostprominent privates in the division, Mr. Mears. Come on, Stubby, pullthat overseas salute of yours. Ain't he a bear-cat, though? And howabout the show? Ain't it some party?"

"Why, it's simply wonderful, " says Vee. "I had no idea, Miss Casey, thatyou were planning anything like this. "

"I didn't, " says Minnie. "Only after we got started it kept gettin'bigger and bigger until there wa'n't a soul on the block but what camein on it. Know what one of the decorators told me? He says there ain't ablock on the West Side has had anything up to this, from Houston Streetup to the Harlem. That's goin' some, ain't it? You got here just in timefor the big doin's, too. It's comin' off right now. See who's standin'up in the truck over there? That's one of the Paulist Fathers, who'sgoin' to make the speech and bless the flag. There it comes, out of thatthird-story window. Wow! Hear 'em cheer. "

And as the red-bordered banner with the white field is pulled out wherethe searchlight strikes it we can make out the figures formed by bluestars. 

"What!" says I. "Not 217 from this one block?"

"Uh-huh!" says Minnie. "And every one of 'em a Fritzie chaser. 'Most awhole company. But ther'd been one less if it hadn't been for Stubby, and everybody knows there's luck in odd numbers. That's why we're sochesty about him. Eh, Mrs. Mears?"

Yes, it was some lively affair. After the speech Mme. Toscarelli, drapedin red, white and blue, sang the Star-Spangled Banner in spite of strongopposition from one of the bands that got the wrong cue and played"Indianola" all through the piece. And a fat boy rolled out of asecond-story window in the Princess flats, but caromed off on an awnin'and wasn't hurt. Also a few young hicks started some rough stuff whenthe ice-cream freezers were opened, but a squad of Junior Naval Leagueboys soon put a crimp in that. And when we had to leave, along aboutnine-thirty, it was as gay a scene as was ever staged on any West Sideblock, bar none. I remarked something of the sort to Mrs. Mears. 

"Yes, " says she, her eyes sort of dimmin' up. "And to think that allthis should be done for my Edgar!"

At which Minnie Casey tips us the private wink. "Why not, I'd like toknow?" says she. "Just look who he is. "

"Yes, of course, dear, " says Mrs. Mears, smilin' satisfied. 

"Can you beat that for the genuine mother stuff?" whispers Minnie, givin' us a partin' grin. 

"I do hope, " says Vee, as we settles ourselves in a Long Island trainfor the ride home, "that Miss Casey gets her Edgar back safe and sound. "

"If she don't, " says I, "she's liable to go over and tear what's left ofGermany off the map. Anyway, they'd better not get her started. "

CHAPTER V

THE VAMP IN THE WINDOW

It was a case of Vee's being in town on a shoppin' orgie and my beinginvited to hunt her up about lunch time. 

"Let's see, " she 'phoned, "suppose you meet me about 12:30 at the MaisonNoir. You know, West Fifty-sixth. And if I'm having a dress fitted onthe second floor just wait downstairs for me, will you, Torchy?"

"In among all them young lady models?" says I. "Not a chance. You'llfind me hangin' up outside. And don't make it more'n half an hour behindschedule, Vee, for this is one of my busy days. "

"Oh, very well, " says she careless. 

So that's how I came to be backed up in the lee of the doorway at 12:45when this stranger with the mild blue eyes and the chin dimple eases inwith the friendly hail. 

"Excuse me, " says he, "but haven't we met somewhere before?"

Which is where my fatal gift for rememberin' faces and forgettin' namescomes into play. After giving him the quick up and down I had him placedbut not tagged. 

"Not quite, " says I. "But we lived in the same apartment buildin' acouple of years back. Third floor west, wasn't you?"

"That's it, " says he. "And I believe I heard you'd just been married. "

"Yes, we did have a chatty janitor, " says I. "You were there with yourmother, from somewhere out on the Coast. We almost got to the noddin'point when we met in the elevator, didn't we?"

"If we did, " says he, "that was the nearest I came to getting acquaintedwith anyone in New York. It's the lonesomest hole I was ever in. Say----"

And inside of three minutes he's told me all about it; how he'd broughtMother on from Seattle to have a heart specialist give her a threemonths' treatment that hadn't been any use, and how he'd come East alonethis time to tie up a big spruce lumber contract with the airplanedepartment. Also he reminds me that he is Crosby Rhodes and writes thename of the hotel where he's stopping on his card. It's almost like areunion with an old college chum. 

"But how do you happen to be sizin' up a show window like this?" says I, indicatin' the Maison Noir's display of classy gowns. "Got somebody backhome that you might take a few samples to?"

His big, square-cut face sort of pinks up and his mild blue eyes take onkind of a guilty look as he glances over his shoulder at the window. "Not a soul, " says he. "The fact is, I'm not much of a ladies' man. Beenin the woods too much, I suppose. All the same, though, I've alwaysthought that if ever I ran across just the right girl----" Here hescrapes his foot and works up that fussed expression again. 

"I see, " says I, grinnin'. "You have the plans and specifications allframed up and think you'd know her on sight, eh?"

Crosby nods and smiles sheepish. "It's gone further than that, " says he. "I--I've seen her. "

"Well, well!" says I. "Where?"

He looks around cautious and then whispers confidential. "In that showwindow. "

"Eh" says I, gawpin'. "Oh! You mean you got the idea from one of thedummies? Well, that's playin' it safe even if it is a little unique. "

Crosby seems to hesitate a minute, as if debatin' whether to let it rideat that or not, and then he goes on:

"Say, " he asks, "do--do they ever put live ones in there?"

"Never heard of it's being done, " says I. "Why?"

"Because, " says he, "there's one in this window right now. "

"You don't say?" says I. "Are you sure?"

"Step around front and I'll point her out, " says he. "Now, right over inthat far--Why--why, say! She's gone!"

"Oh, come!" says I. "You've been seein' things, ain't you? Or maybe itwas only one of the salesladies in rearrangin' the display. "

"No, no, " says Crosby emphatic. "I tell you I had been watching her forseveral minutes before I saw you, and she never moved except for aflutter of the eyelids. She was standing back to, facing that mirror, soI could see her face quite plainly. More than that, she could see me. Ofcourse, I wasn't quite sure, with all those others around. That's why Ispoke to you. I wanted to see what you'd say about her. And now she'sdisappeared. "

"Uh-huh!" says I. "Most likely, too, she was hauled head first throughthat door in the back and if you stick around long enough maybe you'llsee her shoved in again, with a different dress on. Say, Mr. Rhodes, nowonder you're skirt-shy if you never looked 'em over close enough not toknow the dummies from the live ones. Believe me, there's a lot ofdifference. "

But the josh don't seem to get him at all. He's still gawpin' puzzledthrough the plate glass. Finally he goes on: "If this was the firsttime, I might think you were right. But it isn't. I--I've seen herbefore; several times, in fact. "

"As bad as that, eh?" says I. "Then if I was you I'd look up a doctor. "

"Now listen, " says he. "I don't want you to think I'm foolish in thehead. I'm giving you this straight. Only you haven't heard it all yet. You see, I've been walking past here nearly every day since I've been intown--almost three weeks--and at about this time, between twelve-thirtyand one, getting up a luncheon appetite. And about ten days ago I got aglimpse of this face in the mirror. Somehow I was sure it was a face I'dseen before, a face I'd been kind of day dreaming about for a year ormore. Yes, I know that may sound kind of batty, but it's a fact. Out inthe big woods you have time for such things. Anyway, when I saw thatreflection it seemed very familiar to me. So the next day I stopped andtook a good look. She was there. And I was certain she was no dummy. Icould see her breathe. She was watching me in the glass, too. It's beenthe same every time I've been past. "

"Well, " says I, "what then?"

"Why, " says he, "whether it's someone I've known or not, I want to findout who she is and how I can meet her for--for--Well, she's the girl. "

"Gee!" says I, "you're a reg'lar Mr. Zipp-Zipp when it comes to romanticnotions, ain't you?" And I looks him over curious. As I've always held, though, that's what you can expect from these boys with chin dimples. It's the Romeo trade-mark, all right, and Crosby had a deep one. "Butsee here, " I goes on, "suppose it should turn out that you're wrong;that this shop window siren of yours was only one of the kind with acomposition head, a figure that they blow up with a bicycle pump, andwooden feet? Where does that leave you?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I wish you could have seen her, " says he. 

"What sort of a looker?" I asks. "Blonde or brunette?"

"I don't know, " says he. "She has a wonderful complexion--like oldivory. Her hair is wonderful, too, sort of a pale gold. But her eyebrowsare quite dark, and her eyes--Ah, they're the kind you couldn'tforget--sort of a deep violet, I think; maybe you'd call 'em plumcolored. "

"Listens too fancy to be true, " says I. "But they do get 'em up that wayfor the trade. "

There's no jarrin' Crosby loose from his idea, though, and he's justproposin' that I meet him there at twelve-thirty next day when Veedrifts out and I has to break away. "I'll let you know if I can, " says Ias I walks off. 

Course, Vee wants to know who my friend is and all about it, and whenI've sketched out the plot of the piece she's quite thrilled. "Howinteresting!" says she. "I do hope he finds out it's a real girl Some ofthose models are simply stunning, you know. And there is such a thingas a face haunting you. Oh, by the way! Do you remember the Stribbles?"

"Should I?" I asks. 

"The janitor's family in that apartment building where we used to live, "explains Vee. 

"Stribble?" says I. "Oh, yes, the poddy old party who did all the hardsitting around while his wife did the work. What reminded you of them?"

"I'm sure I don't know, " says Vee. "But a month or so ago I saw the nameprinted in an army list of returned casualty cases--there was a boy, youknow, and a girl--and I thought then that we ought to look them up andfind out. Then I forgot all about it until just a few moments ago. Let'sgo there, Torchy, before we go out home tonight?"

I must say I couldn't get very much excited over the Stribbles, but onthe chance that Vee would forget again I promised, and let her tow meinto one of those cute little tea rooms where we had a perfectly punklunch at a dollar ten per each. But even after a three hour sessionamong the white goods sales Vee still remembered the Stribbles, so aboutfive o'clock we finds ourselves divin' into a basement that's none tooclean and are being received by a tall, skinny female with a tously mopof sandy hair bobbed up on her head. 

It seems Ma Stribble was still shovelin' most of the ashes andscrubbin' the halls as well; while Pa Stribble, fatter than ever and inthe same greasy old togs, continues to camp in a rickety arm chair bythe front window, with a pail of suds at his right elbow. Yes, the onementioned in the casualty list was their Jimmy. Only he hadn't come backa trench hero, exactly. He'd collected his blighty ticket without beingat the front at all--by gettin' mixed up with a steel girder in someconstruction work. A mashed foot was the total damage, and he was havinga real good time at the base hospital; would be as good as new in a weekor so. 

"Isn't that fortunate?" says Vee. "And your daughter, where is she?"

"Mame?" says Ma Stribble, scowlin' up quick. "Gawd knows where she is. Idon't. "

"Why, what do you mean?" asks Vee. "She--she hasn't left home, has she?"

"Oh, she sleeps here, " goes on Ma Stribble, "and comes home for some ofher meals, but the rest of the time----" Here she hunches her shoulders. 

"Huh!" grunts Pa Stribble. "If you could see the way she togs herselfout--like some chorus girl. I don't know where she gets all them flossythings and she won't tell. Paint on her face, too. It's bringin' shameon us, I tell her. "

Mrs. Stribble sighs heavy. "And we was tryin' to bring her up decent, "says she. "I got her a job, waitin' in a lunch room up on' the Circle. But she was too good for that. Oh, my, yes! Chucked it after the firstweek. And then she began bloomin' out in fine feathers. Won't say whereshe gets 'em, either. And her always throwin' up to her father about notworkin', when he's got the rheumatism so bad he can hardly walk attimes! Gettin' to be too much of a lady to live in a basement, she is. Humph!"

It looked like Vee had started something, for the Stribbles wereknockin' Mame something fierce, when all of a sudden they quits and wehears the street door open. A minute later and in walks a tall, willowyyoung party wearin' a near-leopard throw-scarf, one of these snappyFrench tams, and a neat black suit that fits her like it had been run onhot. 

If it hadn't been for the odd shade of hair and the eyes I wouldn't haveremembered her at all for the stringy, sloppy dressed flapper I used tosee going in and out with the growler or helping with the sweepin'. MameStribble had bloomed out, for a fact. Also she'd learned how to use alip-stick and an eyebrow pencil. I couldn't say whether she'd touched upher complexion or not. If she had it was an artistic job--just a faintrose-leaf tint under the eyes. And I had to admit that the whole effectwas some stunnin'. Course, she's more or less surprised to see all thecomp'ny, but Vee soon explains how we've come to hear about Brother Jimand she shakes hands real friendly. 

"I suppose you are working somewhere?" suggests Vee. 

Mame nods. 

"Where?" asks Vee, going to the point, as usual. 

Miss Stribble glances accusin' at paw and maw. "Oh, they've beenroastin' me, have they?" she demands. "Well, I can't help it. What theywant to know is how much I'm gettin' so I'll have to give up more. Butit don't work. See! I pay my board--good board, at that--and I'm notgoin' to have paw snoopin' around my place tryin' to queer me. Let himget out and rustle for himself. "

With that Mame sheds the throw-scarf and tosses her velvet tam on thetable. 

"I'm so sorry, " says Vee. "I didn't mean to interfere at all. And I'veno doubt you have a perfectly good situation. "

"It's good enough, " says Mame, "until I strike something better. "

"What a cunning little hat!" says Vee, pickin' up the tam. "Such a lotof style to it, too. "

"Think so?" says Mame. "Well, I built it myself. "

"Really!" says Vee. "Why, you must be very clever. I wish I could dothings like that. "

Trust Vee for smoothin' down rumpled feathers when she wants to. Insideof two minutes she had Mame smilin' grateful and holdin' her hand as shesays good-by. 

"Poor girl!" says Vee, as we gets to the street. "I don't blame her forbeing dissatisfied with such a father as that. And it's just awful theway they talk about her. I'm going to see if I can't do something forher at the shop. "

"Eh?" says I. "She didn't tell you where she was working. "

"She didn't need to, " says Vee. "The name was in the hat lining--theMaison Noir. "

"Say, you're some grand little sleuth yourself, ain't you?" says I. 

"And that explains, " Vee goes on, "why I happened to remember theStribbles today. I must have seen her there. Yes, I'm sure I did--thatpale gold hair and the old ivory complexion are too rare to----"

"Why!" I breaks in, "that's the description Crosby Rhodes gave me ofthis show window charmer of his. "

"Was it?" says Vee. "Then perhaps----"

"But what could she have been doing, posin' in the window?" I asks. "That's what gets me. "

It got Vee, too. "Anyway, " says she, "you must meet that Mr. Rhodestomorrow and tell him what you've discovered. He's rather a nice chap, isn't he?"

"Oh, he's all right, I guess, " says I. "A bit soft above the ears, maybe, but out in the tall timber I expect he passes for a solidcitizen. I don't just see how I'm going to help him out much, though. "

"I'll tell you, " says Vee. "In the morning I will 'phone to MadameMaurice that I want you to see the frock I've picked out, and you cantake Mr. Rhodes in with you. "

So that's the way we worked it. I calls up Crosby, makes the date, andwe meets on the corner at twelve-thirty. He's more or less excited. 

"Then you think you know who she is?" he asks. 

"If you're a good describer, " says I, "there's a chance that I do. Butlisten: suppose she's kind of out of your class--a girl who's beenbrought up in a basement, say, with a janitor for a father?"

"What do I care who her father is?" says Crosby. "I was brought up in alumber camp myself. All I ask is a chance to meet her. "

"You sure know what you want, " says I. "Come on. "

"See!" he whispers as we get to the Maison Noir's show window. "She'sthere!"

And sure enough, standin' back to, over in the corner facin' the mirror, is this classy figure in the zippy street dress, with Mame Stribble'shair and eyes. She's doin' the dummy act well, too. I couldn't seeeither breath or eye flutter. 

"Huh!" says I. "It's by me. Let's go in and interview Madame Maurice. "

We had to waste four or five minutes while I inspects the dress Vee hasbought, and I sure felt foolish standin' there watchin' this young ladymodel glide back and forth. 

"I trust Monsieur approves?" asks Madame Maurice. 

"Oh, sure!" says I. "Quite spiffy. But say, I noticed one in the windowthat sort of took my eye--that street dress, in the corner. "

"Street dress?" says the Madame, lookin' puzzled. "Is M'sieur certain?"

"Maybe I'd better point it out. "

But by the time I'd towed her to the front door there was nothing of thekind in sight. 

"As I thought, " says Madame. "A slight mistake. "

"Looks so, don't it?" says I, as we trails back in. "But you have a MissMamie Stribble working here, haven't you; a young lady with kind ofgoldy hair, dark eyebrows and a sort of old ivory complexion?"

"Ah!" says the Madame. "Perhaps you mean Marie St. Ribble?"

"That's near enough, " says I. "Could I have a few words with her?"

"But yes, " says Madame Maurice. "It is her hour for luncheon. I willsee. " With that she calls up an assistant, shoos me into a back parlorand asks me to wait a moment, leavin' Crosby out front with his mouthopen. 

And two minutes later in breezes the Madame leadin' Mame Stribble by thearm. The lady boss seems somewhat peeved, too. "Tell me, " she demands, "is this the street dress which you observed in the window?"

"That's the very one, " says I. 

"Hah!" says she. "Then perhaps Marie will explain to me later. For thepresent, M'sieur, I leave you. "

"Sorry if I've put you in bad, Miss Stribble, " says I, as the Madamesweeps out. 

"Oh, that's all right, " says Mame, tossin' her chin. "She'll get overit. And, anyway, I was takin' a chance. "

"So I noticed, " says I. "What was the big idea, though?"

"Just sizin' up the people who pass by, " says Mame. "It's grand sporthavin' 'em stretch their necks at you and thinkin' you're just a dummy. I got onto it one day while I was changin' a model. Course, it cuts intomy lunch time, and I have to sneak a dress out of stock, but it's kindof fun. "

"'Specially when you've got one particular young gent coming to watchregular, eh?" I suggests. 

That seems to give her sort of a jolt and for a second she stares at me, bitin' her upper lip. "Who do you mean, now?" she asks. 

"He has a chin dimple and his name's Crosby Rhodes, " says I. "You've putthe spell on him for fair, too. He's out front, waiting to meet you. "

"Oh, is he?" says Mame, lettin' on not to care. "And yet when he waslivin' in one of our apartments he passed me every day without seein' meat all. "

"Oh, ho!" says I. "You took notice of him, though, did you?"

Miss Stribble pinks up at that. "Yes, I did, " says she. "He struck me asa reg'lar feller, one of the kind you could tie to. And when he'd almoststep over me without noticin'--well, I'll admit that sort of hurt. Iexpect that's why I made up my mind to shake the mop and pail outfit andbreak in some place where I could pick up a few tricks. After a fewstabs I landed here at the Maison. I remember I had on a saggy skirt anda shirtwaist that must have looked like it had been improvised out of acoffee sack. It's a wonder they let me past the door. But they did. Forthe first six weeks, though, they kept me in the work rooms. Then I gotone of the girls to help me evenings on a black taffeta; I saved upenough for two pairs of silk stockin's, blew myself to some pumps withfour inch heels, and begun carryin' a vanity box. It worked. Next thingI knew they had me down on the main floor carryin' stock to the modelsand now and then displayin' misses' styles to customers. I had a hunchI was gettin' easier to look at, but you never can tell by the way womensize you up. All they see is the dress. And in the window there I had achance to see whether I was registerin' with the men. That's the wholetragic tale. "

"Leaving out Crosby Rhodes. "

"That's so, " admits Mame. "And it was some satisfaction, bringin' him tolife. "

"You've done more'n that, " says I. "He's one of these guys that wantswhat he wants, and goes after it strong. Just now it seems to be you. "

"How inter-estin'!" says Mame. "Tell me, what's his line?"

"Airplane timber, " says I. "He's from out on the Coast. "

"Oh!" says she. "From one of these littlestraight-through-on-Main-street burgs, I suppose?"

"Headquarters in Seattle, I understand, " says I. "That's hardly on theTom show circuit. "

"Yes, I guess I've heard of the place, " says Mame. "But what's hisproposition!"

"First off, " says I, "Crosby wants to get acquainted. If he has anyhymen stuff up his sleeve, I expect you'd better hear that from himpersonally. The question now is, do you want to meet him?"

"Oh, I dunno, " says Mame careless. "I guess I'll take a chance. "

"Then forget that vanishing act of yours, " says I, "and I'll run himin. "

And, honest, as I slips out of the Maison Noir and beats it for mylunch, I felt like I'd done a day's work. What it would come to was byme. They was off my hands, anyway. 

That couldn't have been over a week ago. And here only yesterday Crosbycomes crashin' into the Corrugated general offices, pounds meenthusiastic on the back, and announces that I'm the best friend he'sgot in the world. 

"Meanin', I expect, " says I, "that Miss Stribble and you have beengettin' on?"

"Old man, " says Crosby, his mild blue eyes sparklin', "she's a wonderfulgirl--wonderful! And within a week she's going to be Mrs. Crosby Rhodes. We start for home just as soon as the Maison Noir can turn out hertrousseau; which is going to be some outfit, take it from me. "

I hope I said something appropriate. If I didn't I expect Crosby was tooexcited to notice. Also that night I carried home the bulletin to Vee. 

"There!" says Vee. "I just knew, the moment I saw her, that she wasn'tat all as that horrid old man tried to make us believe. "

"No, " says I, "Mame's vamping was just practice stuff. A lot of it islike that, I expect. "

"But wasn't it odd, " goes on Vee, "about her meeting the very man she'dliked from the first?"

"Well, not so very, " says I. "With that show window act she had the netspread kind of wide. The only chance Crosby had of escape was by stayingout of New York, and nobody does that for very long at a time. "

CHAPTER VI

TURKEYS ON THE SIDE

Say, I hope this Mr. Hoover of ours gets through trying to feed theworld before another fall. It's a cute little idea all right and oughtto get us in strong with a whole lot of people, but if he don't quit Iknow of one party whose reputation as a gentleman farmer is going to bewrecked beyond repair. And that's me. 

I don't know whether it was Vee's auntie that started me out reckless onthis food producin' career, or old Leon Battou, or Mr. G. Basil Pyne. Maybe they all helped, in their own peculiar way. Auntie's method, ofcourse, is by throwin' out the scornful sniff. It was while she waspayin' us a month's visit one week way last summer, out at our four-acreestate on Long Island, that she pulls this sarcastic stuff. Havin'inspected the baby critical without findin' anything special to kickabout, she suggests that she'd like to look over the grounds. 

"Oh, yes, Torchy, " chimes in Vee, "do show Auntie your garden. "

Maybe you don't get that "your garden. " It's only Vee's way of playin'me as a useful and industrious citizen. Course, I did buy the seeds andall the shiny hoes and rakes and things, and I studied up the cataloguesuntil I could tell the carrots from the cucumbers; but I must admit thatbeyond givin' the different beds the once-over every now and then, andpullin' up a few tomato plants that I thought was weeds, I didn't domuch more than underwrite the enterprise. 

As a matter of fact, it was mostly Leon Battou, the old Frenchy who doesour cookin', that really ran the garden. Say, that old boy would havesomething green growin' if he lived in the subway and had to bring downhis real estate in paper bags. It was partly on his account, you know, that we left our studio apartment and moved out in the forty-fiveminutes commutin' zone. Then, too, there was Joe Cirollo, who comes inby the day to cut the grass and keep the flower beds slicked up, and dothe heavy spadin'. And with Vee keepin' books on what was spent and whatwe got you can guess I wasn't overworked. Also it's a cinch that gardenplot just had to hump itself and make good. 

Auntie ain't wise to all this, though. So she raises her eyebrows andremarks: "A garden? Really! I should like to see it. A few radishes andspindly lettuce, I suppose?"

"Say, come have a look!" says I. 

And when I'd pointed out the half acre of potatoes, and the long rows ofcorn and string beans and peas--and I hope I called 'em all by theirright names--I sure had the old girl hedgin' some. But trust her!

"With so much land, though, " she goes on, "it seems to me you ought tobe raising your eggs and chickens as well. "

"Oh, we've planned for all that, " says I, "ducks and hens and geese andturkeys; maybe pheasants and quail. "

"Quail!" says Auntie. "Why, I didn't know one could raise quail. Ithought they----"

"When I get started raisin' things, " says I, "I'm apt to go the limit. "

"I shall be interested to see what success you have, " says she. 

"Sure!" says I. "Drop around again--next fall. "

You wouldn't have thought she'd been disagreeable enough to go andrehearse all this innocent little bluff of mine to Vee, would you? Butshe does, it seems. And of course Vee has to back me up. 

"But, Torchy!" she protests, after Auntie's gone. "How could you tellher such whoppers?"

"Easiest thing I do, " says I. "But who knows what we'll do next in thenourishment producin' line? Hasn't old Leon been beggin' to go into theduck and chicken business for months? With eggs near a dollar a dozenmaybe it would be a good scheme. And if we go in for poultry, why nothave all kinds, turkeys as well?"

So a few days later I put it up to him. Leon shakes his head. "Thechickens and the ducks, yes; but the turkey----" Here he shrugs hisshoulders desperate. "Je ne connais pas. "

"You jennie what?" says I. "Ah, come, Leon, don't be a quitter. "

He explains that the ways of our national bird are a complete mystery tohim. He'd as soon think of tryin' to hatch out ostriches or canaries. Sofor the time being we pass up the turkeys and splurge heavy on cacklersand quackers. Between him and Joe they fixed up part of the old carriageshed as a poultry barracks and with a mile or so of nettin' they fencedoff a run down to the little pond. And by the middle of August we hadall sorts of music to wake us up for an early breakfast. I nearlylaughed a rib loose watchin' them baby ducks waddle around solemn, everyone with that cut-up look in his eye. Say, they're born comedians, ducksare. I'll bet if you could translate that quack-quack patter of theirsyou'd get lines that would be a reg'lar scream on the big time circuit. 

And then along in the fall we begun gettin' acquainted with our newneighbors that had taken that cute little stucco cottage halfway downto the station from us. The Basil Pynes, a young English couple, wefound out they were. Course, Vee started it by callin' and followin'that up by a donation of some of our garden truck. Pretty soon we wereswappin' visits reg'lar. 

I can't say I was crazy over 'em. She's a little mouse of a woman, bigeyed and quiet, but Vee seems to like her. Pyne, he's a tall, slim ginkwith stooped shoulders and so short sighted that he has to wear extrathick eyeglasses. He'd come over to work for some book publishin' housebut it seems he wrote things himself. He'd landed one book and waspluggin' away on another; not a novel, I understands, but somethingdifferent. 

"Huh!" says I to Vee. "No wonder he had to go into the lit'ry game, withthat monicker hung on him. Basil Pyne! The worst of it is, he looks it, too. "

"Now, Torchy!" protests Vee. "I'm sure you'll find him real interestingwhen you know him better. "

As usual, she's right. Anyway, it turns out that Basil has his goodpoints. For one thing he's the most entertaining listener I ever talkedto. Maybe you know the kind. Never has anything to say about himself butwhatever you start, that's what he wants to know about. And from thefriendly look in the mild gray eyes behind the thick panes, and theearnest way he has of stretchin' his ear you'd think that what you wastellin' him was the very thing he'd been livin' all these years to hear. Then he has that trick of throwin' in "My word!" and "Just fancy that!"sort of admirin' and enthusiastic, until you almost believe that you'rea lot cleverer and smarter than you'd suspected. 

So when I gets on the subject of how we ducked payin' war prices forvegetables to the local profiteers by raisin' our own he wants to knowall about it. With the help of Vee's set of books and a little promptin'from her I gives him an earful. I even tows him down cellar and pointsout the various bins and barrels full of stuff we've got stowed away forwinter. And next I has to drag him out and exhibit the poultry sideline. 

"Oh, I say!" exclaims Basil. "Isn't that perfectly rippin'! You havefresh eggs right along?"

"All we can use, " says I. "And we're eatin' the he--hens whenever wewant 'em. Ducks, too. "

"How clever!" says Basil. "But you Americans are always so good atwhatever you take up. And you such a hard drivin' business man, too! Idon't see how you manage it. "

"Oh, it comes easy enough once you get the hang of it, " says I. "As amatter of fact, I'm only just startin' in. Next thing I mean to have isa lot of turkeys. Might as well live high. "

"Turkeys!" says Basil. "And I've heard they were so difficult to raise. But I've no doubt you will make a huge success with them. "

"Guess I'll just have to show you, " says I, waggin' my head. 

I was for gettin' some turkey eggs right away and rushin' along a flockso they'd be ready by Christmas, but both Vee and Leon insists that itcan't be done. Seems it's too late in the season or something. They wantto wait until next spring. 

"Not me, " says I. "I've promised your Auntie I'd raise turkeys and Igotta deliver the goods. If we can't start 'em from the seed what's thematter with gettin' some sprouts? Ain't anybody got any young turkeysthat need bringin' up scientific?"

Well, I set Joe Cirollo to scoutin' around and inside of a week he hasconnected with half a dozen. They comes in a crate as big as a piano boxand we turns 'em loose in the chicken yard. When I paid the bill I wassure Joe had been stuck about two prices, but after I've discovered whatthey're askin' for turkeys in the city markets I has to take it back. 

"Oh, well, " says I, "if we can fatten 'em up maybe we'll come outwinners, after all. "

"Sure!" says Joe. "We maka dem biga fat. "

After I'd bought a few bags of feed though, I quit figurin'. I knew thatno matter how they was cooked they'd taste of money. All I was doubtfulof now was whether they was the right breed of turkeys. 

"What's all that red flannel stuff on their necks?" I asks Joe. "Ain'tgot sore throats, have they!"

"Heem?" says Joe. "No, no. Dey gooda turk. All time data way. "

"All right, " says I, "if it's the fashion. I don't eat the neck, anyway. "

I couldn't get Leon at all excited over my gobblers, though. All he'lldo is shake his head dubious. "They walk with such pride and still theybehave so foolish, " says he. 

"It ain't their manners I'm fond of, " says I, "so much as it is theirwhite meat. Even at that, when it comes to foolish notions, they've gotnothing on your ducks. "

"Mais non, " says Leon, meaning nothing sensible, "you do not understandthe duck perhaps. Me, I raised them as a boy in Perronne. But theturkey! Pouff! He is what you call silly in the head. One cannot saywhat they will do next. Anything may happen to such birds. "

He makes such a fuss over the way they hog the grain at feedin' timethat I have to have a separate run built for 'em. You'd almost think hewas jealous. But Joe, on the other hand, treats 'em like pets. I don'tknow how many times a day he feeds 'em, and he's always luggin' one upto me to show how heavy they're gettin'. I was waitin' until they gotinto top notch condition before springin' 'em on Basil Pyne. I meant toget a gasp out of him when I did. 

Finally I set a day for the private view and asked the Pynes to comeover special. Basil, he's all prepared to be thrilled as I tows him out. "But you don't mean to say this is your first venture at turkeyraising?" he demands. 

"Ab-so-lutely, " says I. 

"Strordinary!" says Basil. 

At the end of the turkey run though I finds Joe starin' through the wirewith a panicky look on his face. "Well, Joe, " says I, "anything wrongwith the flock?"

"I dunno, " says he. "Maybe da go bughouse, maybe da got jag on. See!"

Blamed if it don't look like he'd made two close guesses. Honest, everyone of them gobblers was staggerin' 'round, bumpin' against each otherand runnin' into the fence, with their tails spread and their long neckswavin' absurd. A 3 a. M. Bunch of New Year's Eve booze punisherscouldn't have given a more scandalous exhibition. 

"My word!" says Basil. 

Course, it's up to me to produce an explanation. Which I does prompt. "Oh, that's nothing!" says I. "They're just tryin' the duck waddle, imitatin' their neighbors in the next run. Turkeys always do that sooneror later if you have ducks near 'em. They keep at it until they'redizzy. "

"Really, now?" says Basil. "I never heard that before. "

"Not many people have, " says I. "But they'll get over it in an hour orso. Look in tomorrow and you'll see. "

Basil says he will. And after he's gone I opens the court martial. 

"Joe, " I demands, "what you been feedin' them turks?"

It took five minutes of cross examination before I got him to rememberthat just before breakfast he'd sneaked out and swiped a pail of stuffthat he thought Leon was savin' for his ducks. And what do you guess?Well, him and Leon had gone into the home-made wine business last fall, utilizin' all them grapes we grew out in the back lot, and only the daybefore they'd gone through the process of rackin' it from one barrelinto another. It was the stuff that was left in the bottom that Joe hadswiped for his pets. 

"Huh!" says I. "And now you've not only disgraced those turkeys for lifebut you've made me hand Mr. Pyne some raw nature-fakin' stuff thatnobody but a fool author would swallow. "

"I mucha sorry, " says Joe, hangin' his head. 

"All right, " says I. "I expect you meant well. But it was a bum hunch. Now see they have plenty of water to drink and by mornin' maybe they'llsober up. "

I meant to keep an eye on 'em myself for the rest of the day, but rightafter luncheon Auntie blows in again, to pay a farewell visit beforestartin' South, and the turkeys slipped my mind. Not until she asks howI'm gettin' on with my flock of quail did I remember. 

"Oh, quail!" says I. "No, I had to ditch that. Couldn't get the rightsort of eggs. "

Auntie smiles sarcastic. "What a pity!" says she. "But the various kindsof poultry you were going in for? Did you----"

"Did I?" says I. "Say, you just come out and---- Well, Leon, anythingyou want special?"

"Pardon, m'sieu, " says old Leon, scrapin' his foot, "but--but theturkeys. "

"Yes, I know, " says I. "They're doing that new trot Joe's been teaching'em. "

"But no, m'sieu, " says Leon. "They have become deceased--utterly. "

"Wha-a-a-at?" says I. "Oh, oh, I guess it ain't as bad as that. "

"Pardon, " says Leon, "but I discover them steef, les pieds dans le ciel. Thus!" And he illustrates by holdin' both hands above his head. 

"Perhaps it would be best to investigate, " suggests Auntie. "I have nodoubt Leon is right. Turkeys require expert care and handling, and whenyou were so sure of raising them I quite expected something like this. "

"Yes, I know you did, " says I. "Anyway, let's take a look. "

And there they were, all six of 'em, with their feet in the air, and asstiff as if they'd just come from cold storage. 

"Like somebody had thrown in a gas attack on 'em, " says I. "Good night, turks! You sure did make it unanimous, didn't you?"

I expect my smile was kind of a sickly performance, for the last personI'd have wanted to be in on the obsequies was Auntie. I will say, though, that she don't try to rub it in. No, she tells of similar casesshe's known of when she was a girl, about whole flocks bein' poisoned bysomething they'd found to eat. 

"The only thing to do now, " says she, "is to save the feathers. "

"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. 

"The long tail and wing feathers can be used for making fans andtrimming hats, " says Auntie, "while the smaller ones are excellent forstuffing pillows. They must be picked at once. "

"Oh, I'm satisfied to call 'em a total loss, " says I. 

Auntie wouldn't have it, though. She sends Leon for a big apron and acouple of baskets and has me round up Joe to help. When I left theywere all three busy and the turkey feathers were coming off fast. Allthere was left for me to do was to go in and break the sad news to Vee. 

"As a turkey raiser, I'm a flivver, " says I. 

"But I can't see that it's your fault at all, " says Vee. 

"Can't you?" says I. "Ask Auntie. "

If the next day hadn't been Sunday, I could have sneaked off to town anddodged the little talk Auntie insists on givin' about the folly ofamateurs tacklin' jobs they know nothing about. As it is I has to stickaround and take the gaff. Then about ten o'clock Basil Pyne has to showup and reopen the subject. 

"Oh, by the way, " says he, "how are the turkeys this morning? Are theystill practicing that wonderful duck walk you were telling me about?"

Auntie has just fixed an accusin' eye on me, and I was wonderin' if itwould be any sin to take Basil out back somewhere and choke him, when inrushes old Leon with a wild look on his face. He's so excited that he'salmost speechless and all he can get out is a throaty gurgle. 

"For the love of soup, let's have it, " says I. "What's gone wrong now?"

"O-o-o la la!" says Leon. "O-o-o la la!"

"That's right, sing it if you can't say it, " says I. 

"Parbleu! Nom de Dieu! Les dindons!" he gasps. 

"Ah, can the ding-dong stuff, Leon, " says I, "and let's hear the Englishof it. "

"The--the turkeys!" he pants out. 

And that did get a groan out of me. "Once more!" says I. "Say, have aheart! Can't anybody think of a more cheerful line? Turkeys! Well, shootit. They're still dead, I suppose?"

"But no, " says Leon. "They--they have return to life. "

"Oh come, Leon!" says I. "You must have been sampling some of them winedregs yourself. Do you mean to say----"

"If M'sieu would but go and observe, " puts in Leon. "Me, I have seenthem with my eye. Truly they are as in life. "

"Why, after we picked them last night I saw you throw them over thefence, " says I. 

"Even so, " says Leon. "But come. "

Well, this time we had a full committee--Vee, Auntie, Basil, MadameBattou, old Leon and myself--and we all trails out to the back lot. Andsay, once again Leon is right. There they are, all huddled together onthe lowest branch of a bent-over apple tree and every last one of 'em asshy of feathers as the back of your hand. It's the most indecent poultryexhibit I ever saw. 

"My word!" says Basil, starin' through his thick glasses. 

"That don't half express it, Basil, " says I. 

"But--but what happened to them?" he insists. 

"I hate to admit it, " says I, "but they had a party yesterday. Uh-huh. Wine dregs. And they got soused to the limit--paralyzed. Then, on theadvice of a turkey expert"--here I glances at Auntie--"we decided thatthey were dead, and we picked 'em to conserve their feathers. Swellidea, eh? Just a little mistake about their being utterly deceased, asLeon put it. They were down, but not out. Look at the poor things now, though. "

And then Vee has to snicker. "Aren't they just too absurd!" says she. "See them shiver. "

"I should think they'd be blushin', " says I. "What's the next move?" Iasks Auntie. "Do I put in steam heat for 'em?"

It takes Auntie a few minutes to recover, but when she does she's rightthere with the bright little scheme. "We must make jackets for them, "says she. 

"Eh?" says I. 

"Certainly, " she goes on. "They'll freeze if we don't. And it'sperfectly practical. Of course, I've never seen it done, but I'm surethey'll get along just as well if their feathers were replaced bysomething that will keep them warm. "

"Couldn't get the Red Cross ladies to knit sweaters for 'em, could we?"I suggests. 

Auntie pays no attention to this, but asks Vee if she hasn't some oldflannel shirts, or something of the kind. 

Well, while they're plannin' out the new winter styles of turkeycostumes, Joe and Leon rigs up a wood stove in their coop, shoos theflock in, and proceeds to warm 'em up. They took turns that nightkeeping the fire going, I understand. 

And when I comes home Monday afternoon from the office I ain't evenallowed to say howdy to the youngster until I've been dragged out andintroduced triumphant to the only flock of custom-tailored turkeys inthe country. Auntie and Vee and Madame Battou sure had done a neat jobof costumin', considerin' the fact that they'd had no paper patterns togo by. But somehow they'd doped out a one-piece union suit cut high inthe neck with sort of a knickerbocker effect to the lower end. Mostlythey seemed to have used an old near-silk quilted bathrobe of mine, butI also recognized a khaki army shirt that I had no notion of throwin' inthe discard yet awhile. And if you'll believe it them gobblers wasstruttin' around as chesty as if they hadn't lost a feather. 

"Aren't they just too cute for anything?" demands Vee. 

"Worse than that, " says I, "they look almost as human as so manyfloor-walkers. I hope they ain't going to be hard on clothes, for mywardrobe wouldn't stand many such raids. "

"Oh, don't worry about that, " says Vee. "We shall be eating one everyweek or so. "

"Then don't let me know when the executions take place, " says I. "As forme, I shouldn't feel like tellin' Joe to kill one without an order fromthe High Sheriff of the county. "

And say, if I'm ever buffaloed into buyin' any more live turkeys, I'mgoing to demand a written guarantee that they're Prohibitionists. 

CHAPTER VII

ERNIE AND HIS BIG NIGHT

I'm kind of glad I was with Ernie when he had his big night. If I hadn'tbeen I never would have believed it of him. Not if he'd producedaffidavits. No! It would have been too much of a strain on theimagination. 

For somehow it's hard to connect Ernie with anything like that, evenwhen I've seen what I have. You could almost tell that, just by hisname--Ernest Sudders. And when I add that he's assistant auditor in theCorrugated offices you ought to have the picture complete. You know whatassistant auditors are like. 

Ernie ran true to type. And then some. I expect there was one or twoother things he might have been; such as manager of a gift shop, orwindow dresser for the misses' department, or music teacher in a girls'boarding school. But I doubt if he'd ever been such a success as he wasat the high desk. Seemed like he was born to be an assistant auditor. Hewas holding the job when I first came to the Corrugated as sub officeboy; he still has it, and I can think of only one party that could pryhim loose from it--the old boy with the long scythe. 

For one thing, Ernie gives all his time to being assistant auditor. Notjust office hours. I'll bet he's one even in his sleep. He looks thepart, dresses the part, thinks the part. He don't work at it, he livesit. Talk about this four dimension stuff. Ernie gets along with two--upthe column from the bottom, and both ways from the decimal point. 

Not such a bad-lookin' chap, Ernie, only a bit stiff from the waist up. You know, like he had his spine in a cast. Then there's the neck-apple. Ernie fits his into a high white wing collar and sets it off with ablack ascot tie and a pearl stickpin. Also he sports the only blackcutaway that's worn reg'lar into the General Offices. Oh, yes, Erniecould go on at a minute's notice as best man or pall-bearer. I don'tmean he's often called on to be either. He only wears that costumebecause that's his idea of how an assistant auditor should be arrayed. 

One of these super-system birds, Ernie is. He could turn out an annualreport every Saturday if the directors asked for it. Never has to huntfor a bunch of stray figures. He has everything cross-indexed neat andaccurate. He's that way about everything, always a spare umbrella and anextra pair of rubbers in his locker, and he carries a pearl-handlepenknife in a chamois case. 

But in spite of all that I'm sorry to state that around the CorrugatedErnie is rated as a walking joke. We all josh him, even up to OldHickory Ellins. The only ones he ever seems to mind much though are thelady typists. The hardest thing he does during the day is when he has towalk past that battery of near-vamps, for they never fail to lay down arolling eye barrage that gets him pink in the ears. 

Course, having noticed that, I generally use it as my cue for passingpleasant words to Ernie. "Honest now, " I'll ask him, "which one of themLizzie Mauds are you playin' as favorite these days, Ernie?"

And Ernie, he'll color up like a fire hydrant and protest: "Now, say, Torchy! You know very well I've never spoken to one of them. "

"Yes, you tell it well, " I'll say, "but I'm onto you, old sport. "

I don't know how long I've been shooting stuff like that at Ernie, andit always gets him going. I have a hunch, though, that he kind of likesit. These skirt-shy boys usually do. And as a matter of fact I expectthe only female he ever looked square in the eye is that old maid sisterof his that he lives with somewhere over in Jersey. 

So this night when we were doing overtime together at the office and itwas a case of going out for dinner I'd planned to slip a littlesomething on Ernie by towin' him to a joint where the lights werebright and they were apt to have silver buckets on the floor. I washoping he might see some perfect lady light up a cigarette, or maybegive him a cut-up glance over the top of her fizz goblet. It would becheerin' to watch Ernie tryin' to let on he didn't notice. 

He'd already called Sister on the long distance telephone and told hernot to wait up for him, explainin' just what it was we was workin' onand how we might not be through until quite late. And Sister had advisedhim to be sure to wear his silk muffler and not to sleep past hisstation if he had to take the 11:48 out. 

"Gosh, Ernie!" says I. "If you 're that way now what'll you be whenyou're married?"

"But I hadn't thought of getting married, " says he. "Really!"

"Yes, " says I, "and you silent, thoughtless boys are the very ones whojump into matrimony unexpected. Some evenin' you'll meet just the rightbabidoll and the next thing we know you'll be sendin' us at home cards. You act innocent enough in public, but I'll bet you're a bear when itcomes to workin' up to a quick clinch behind the palms. "

Ernie almost gasps with horror at the thought. 

"Oh, I wouldn't put it past you, " says I. "I expect, though, you'd liketo have me class you among the great unkissed?"

"As a matter of fact, " says Ernie solemn, "I have never--Well, notsince I was a mere boy, at least. It--it's just happened so. "

"And you past thirty!" says I. "What a long spell to be out of luck!"

So I suggests that we work through until about 7:45 and then hit theRegal roof for a $2 feed and a view of some of this fancy skatin'they're pullin' off there. But that ain't Ernie's plan at all. He hashis mouth all set for an oyster stew and a plate of crullers down in theArcade beanerie. 

"Ah, forget your old automatic habits for once, " says I. "This dinner ison the house, you know, so why not make it a reg'lar one? Come along. "

And for a wonder I persuades him to do it. I expect this idea ofchargin' it on the expense account hadn't occurred to him. 

Anyway, that's how it come we were piking through West Forty-fifthStreet with the first of the theater crowds, Ernie still protestin' thathe really didn't care for this sort of thing--cabaret stunts and allthat--and me kiddin' him along as usual, sayin' I'll bet the head waiterwould call him by his first name, when the net is cast sudden overErnie's head. 

I don't know which one of us saw her first. All I'm sure of is that weboth sort of slowed up and did the gawp act. You could hardly blame us, for here in a taxi by the curb is--Well, it would take Robert Chambers apage and a half at twenty cents a word to do her full justice, so I'lljust say she was a lovely lady. 

No, I ain't gettin' her mixed with any of Mr. Ziegfeld's stars, nor sheain't any broker's bride plucked from the switch-board. She's the realthing in the lady line, though how I knew it's hard to tell. Also she'sa home-grown siren that works without the aid of a lip-stick, permanentwave, or an eyebrow pencil. Anyway, here she is leaning through the taxidoor and shootin' over the alluring smile. 

I couldn't quite believe it was meant for either of us until I'd scoutedaround to see if there wasn't someone else in line. No, there wasn't. And as Ernie is nearest, course I knows it's for him. 

"Ah, ha!" says I. "Who's your friend with the golden tresses?"

That's what they were, all right. You don't see hair like that everyday, and it ain't the shade which can be produced at a beauty parlor. It's the 18-karat kind, done up sort of loose and careless, but all themore dangerous for that. And with that snowy white complexion, exceptfor the pink flush on the cheeks, and the big, starry blue eyes, shesure is a stunner. 

"Do--do you think she means me?" whispers Ernie husky, as we stop in ourtracks. 

"Ah come!" says I. "This is no time to stall. If she hadn't spotted youdirect you might have let on you didn't see her, and strolled backafter you'd given me the slip. As it is, Ernie, I've got the goods onyou for once and you might as well----"

"But I--I don't know her at all, " insists Ernie. 

Just then, though, she reaches out a pair of bare arms and remarks realfolksy: "At last you've come, haven't you?"

"Seems to be fairly well acquainted with you, though, Ernie boy, " saysI. 

As for Ernie, he just stands there starin' bug-eyed and gaspy, as if hedidn't know what to do. Course, I couldn't tell why. I knew he alwayshad acted like a poor prune when he was kidded by the flossy keypounders in the office, but almost any nut could see this was anentirely different case. Here was a regular person, all dolled up in aclassy evening gown, with a fur-trimmed opera cape slippin' off hershoulders. And she was givin' him the straight call. 

"But--but there must be some mistake, " protests Ernie. 

"If there is, " says I, "it's up to you to put the lady wise. You can'twalk off and leave her with her hands in the air, can you? Ah, don't bea fish! Step up. "

With that I gives him a push and Ernie staggers over to the curb. 

"It's been so long, " I hears the lady murmur, "but I knew you wouldremember. Come. "

What Ernie said then I didn't quite catch, but the next thing I knewhe'd been dragged in, the chauffeur had got the signal, and as the taxistarted off toward Fifth Avenue I had a glimpse of what looked very muchlike a fond clinch, with Ernie as the clinchee. 

And there I am left with my mouth open. I expect I hung up there fullyten minutes, tryin' to dope out what had happened. Had Ernie just beenstallin' me off tryin' to establish an alibi? Or was it a case of poormemory? No, that didn't seem likely. She wasn't the kind of a femaleparty a man could forget easy, if he'd ever really known her. Speciallya gink like Ernie who'd had such a limited experience. Nor she wasn'tthe type that would go out cruisin' in a cab after perfect strangers. Not her. Besides, hadn't she recognized Ernie on sight? Then there wasthe quick clinch. No discountin' that. Whoever it was it's somebody whodon't hesitate to hug Ernie right in public. And yet he sticks to it, right up to the last, that he don't know her. Well, I gave it up. 

"Either he's a foxier sport than we've been givin' him credit for, "thinks I, "or else the lady has made the mistake of her life. If she hasshe'll soon find it out and Ernie will be trailing back on the hunt forme. "

But after walkin' up and down the block three times without seeinganything that looked like Ernie I dodges into a chop-house and has abite all by my lonesome. Then I wanders back to the general offices andtries to wind up what we'd been workin' on. But I couldn't helpwondering about Ernie. Had he just plain buffaloed me, or what? If hehad, who was his swell lady friend? And how did she come to be waitin'there in the taxi? By the way she was costumed she might have been onher way to some dinner dance on Fifth Avenue. That was a perfectlyspiffy evening dress she had on, what there was of it. And I couldremember jewels sparklin' here and there. Course, she was no chicken;somewhere under thirty would have been my guess, but she sure was easyto look at. Such eyes, too! Yes, a little starry maybe, but big andsparkly. No wonder Ernie didn't care to look at any of our lady typistsif he had that in the background. 

So I wasn't gettin' ahead very fast untanglin' them dockage contracts, and before 11 o'clock I was yawning. I'd just decided to quit and loafaround the station until the theater train was ready when I hears anunsteady step in the outer office and the next minute in blows Ernie. 

That is, it's somebody who looks a little as Ernie did three hoursbefore. But his derby is busted in on one side, one end of his wingcollar has been carried away and is ridin' up towards his left ear, hiscoat is all dusty, and his face is flushed up like a new fire truck. 

"For the love of soup!" says I, gaspy. "Must have been some party?"

Ernie, he braces himself by grippin' a chair-back and makes a stab atrecoverin' his usual stiff-neck pose. But it's a flat failure. So hegives up, waves one hand around vague, and indulges in a foolish smile. 

"Wha'--wha' makes you think sho--party?" he demands. 

"I got second sight, Ernie, " says I, "and it tells me you've beenspilled off the wagon. "

"You--you think I--I've been drinkin'?" asks Ernie indignant. 

"Oh, no, " says I. "I should say you'd been using a funnel. "

"Tha's--tha's because you have 'spischus nashur', " protests Ernie. "Merely few glasshes. You know--bubblesh in stem. "

"Champagne, eh?" says I. "Then it was a reg'lar party? Ernie, I amsurprised at you. "

"You--you ain't half so shurprised as--as I am myshelf, " says he, chucklin'. "Tha's what I told Louishe. "

"Oh, you mentioned it to Louise, did you?" says I. "I expect that wasthe lovely lady who carted you off in the taxi?"

He nods and springs another one of them silly smiles. "Tha's ri', " sayshe. "The lovely Louishe. "

"Tell me, Ernie, " says I, "how long has this been going on?"

And what do you suppose this fathead has the front to spring on me? Thatthis was the first time he'd ever seen her. Uh-huh! He sticks to thattale. Even claims he don't know what the rest of her name is. 

"Louishe, tha's all, " says he. "Th' lovely Louishe. "

"Oh, very well, " says I. "We'll let it ride at that. And I expect shepicked you out all on account of your compelling beauty? Must have beena sudden case, from the fond clinch I saw you gettin' as the cabstarted. "

Ernie closed his eyes slow, like he was goin' over the scene again, andthen remarks: "Thash when I begun to be surprished. Louishe has mostaffec-shanate nashur. "

"So it would seem, " says I. "But where did the party take place?"

That little detail appears to have escaped Ernie. He remembered thatthere were pink candles on the table, and music playing, and a lot ofnice people around. Also that the waiter's head was shiny, like an egg. He thought it must have been at some hotel on Fifth Avenue. Yes, theywent in through a sidewalk canopy. It was a very nice dinner, too--'specially the pheasant and the parfait in the silver cup. And itwas so funny to watch the bubbles keep coming up through the glass stem. 

"Yes, " says I, "that's one of New York's favorite winter sports. Butwho was all this on--Louise?"

"She insists I'm her guesh, " says Ernie. 

"That made it very nice, then, didn't it?" says I. "But none of thisaccounts for the dent in your hat and the other rough-house signs. Somebody must have got real messy with you at some stage in the game. Remember anything about that?"

"Oh!" says Ernie, stiffenin' up and tryin' to scowl. "Most--mostdisagreeable persons. Actually rude. "

"Who and where?" I insists. 

"Louishe's family, " says Ernie. "I--I don't care for her family. No. Sorry, but----"

"Mean to say Louise took you home after dinner?" says I. 

Ernie nods. "Wanted me to meet family, " says he. "Dear old daddy, darling mother, sho on. 'Charmed, ' says I. I was willing to meet anyonethen. Right in the mood. 'Certainly, ' says I. Feeling friendly. Pattedwaiter on back, waved to orchestra leader, shook handsh with perfectstranger going out. Went to lovely house, uptown somewhere. Fine ol'butler, fine ol' rugsh in hall, tapeshtries on wall. And then--then----"

Ernie slumps into a chair, pushes the loose collar end away from hischin fretful, and indulges in a deep sigh. I expect he thinks he's toldthe whole story. 

"I take it, " says I, "that you did meet dear old daddy?"

"Washn't so very old, at thash, " says Ernie. "No. Nor such a dear. Looksh like--like Teddy Roosh'velt. Behavesh like Teddy, too. Im--impeshuous. Very firsh thing he says is, 'And who the devil areyou?' 'Guesh?' I tells him. 'Give you three guesshes. ' He--he's no goodas guessher, daddy. Grabsh me by the collar. 'You, you loafer!' says he. Then the lovely Louishe comes to rescue. 'Can't you see, daddy?' shetells him. 'It's Ernie. Found him at lash. ' 'Ernie who?' demandsh daddy. 'I--I forget, ' says Louishe. 'Bah!' saysh daddy. 'Lash time it wasHarold, wasn't it?' 'Naughty, naughty!' saysh I. 'Mustn't tell talesh. Bad form, daddy. Lessh all be calm now and--and we'll tell you aboutdinner--bubblesh in the glass, 'n'everything. Louishe and I. Lovelygirl, Louishe. Affecshonate nashur. ' And thash as far as I got. Different nashur, daddy. "

"I gather that he didn't insist on your staying?" says I. 

No, he hadn't. As near as I could make out dear old daddy took a firmgrip on Ernie in two places, and while the fine old butler held thefront door open he got more impetuous than ever. As Ernie tells me aboutit he rubs himself reminiscent and gazes sorrowful at his dented derby. 

"Mosh annoying, " says he. "Couldn't even shay good night to lovelyLouishe. "

"Oh, well, " says I. "You can make up for that when you pay your dinnercall. By the way, where was this home of the lovely Louise?"

Ernie doesn't know. When he'd arrived he was too busy to notice thestreet and number, and when he came out he was too much annoyed. Also hedidn't remember having heard Louise's last name. 

"Huh!" says I. "Except for that everything is all clear, eh? It strikesme, Ernie, as if you'd worked up a perfectly good mystery. You've beenkidnapped by a lovely lady, had a swell dinner, with plenty of fizz onthe side, been introduced to a strong-arm father, and finished on thesidewalk with your lid caved in. And for an assistant auditor whoblushes as easy as you do that's what I call kind of a large evening. "

Ernie nods. Then he chuckles to himself, sort of satisfied, and remarksmushy: "Lovely girl, Louishe. "

"Yes, we've admitted all that, " says I. "But who the blazes is she?"

Ernie rumples his hair thoughtful and then shakes his head. 

"But during all that time didn't she say anything about herself, or giveyou any hint?" I goes on. 

Ernie can't remember that she did. 

"What was all the chat about?" I demands. 

"Oh, everything, " says Ernie. "She--she said she'd been looking for melong timesh. Knew me by--by my eyesh. "

"How touching!" says I. "That must have been during the clinch. "

"Yes, " says Ernie. "But nexsh time----"

"Say, " I breaks in, "if you don't know what her name is, or where shelives, how do you figure on a next time?"

"Thash so, " says Ernie. "Too bad. "

"Still, " says I, "the kiss stringency in your young career has beenlifted, hasn't it? And now it's about time I fixed you up and towed youout to a hotel where you can hit the feathers for about ten hours. Myhunch is that a pitcher of ice water is going to look mighty good to youin the morning. And maybe by tomorrow noon you can remember more detailsabout Louise than you can seem to dig up now. "

You can't always tell about these birds who surprise you that way. I wasonly an hour late in getting to the office myself next day, but I findsErnie at his desk looking hardly any the worse for wear, and grindingaway as usual. He looks a little sheepish when I ask him if Louise has'phoned him yet. 

"S-s-sh!" says he, glancin' around cautious. "Please!"

"Oh, sure!" says I. "Trust me. I'm no sieve. But I'm wondering ifyou'll ever run across her again. "

"I--I don't know, " says Ernie. "It all seems so vague and queer. I can'trecall much of anything except that Louise---- Well, she did show rathera fondness for me, you know; and perhaps, some time or other----"

"Yes, " says I, "lightnin' does occasionally strike twice in the sameplace. But not often, Ernie. "

He's a wonder, Ernie is. Seems satisfied to let it go as it stands, without trying to dope anything out. But me, I can't let anybody bat amystery like that up to me without going through a few Sherlock Holmesmotions. So that evening finds me wandering through Forty-fifth Streetagain at about the same hour. Not that I expected to find the samelovely lady ambushed in a cab. I don't know just what I was looking for. 

And then, all of a sudden, I gets my eye on this yellow taxi. It's anodd shade of yellow, something like a pale squash pie; a big, lumberingold bus that had been repainted by some amateur. And I was willing tobet there wasn't another in town just like it. Also it's the one Erniehad stepped into the night before, for there's the same driver wearingthe identical square-topped brown derby. Only there's no Louise waitinginside. 

They're a shifty bunch, these independents. Some you can hire for abank robbing job or a little act with gun play in it, and some youcan't. This mutt looked like he'd be up to anything. But when I asks himif he remembers the lady in the evening dress he had aboard last nighthe just looks stupid and shakes his head. 

"Oh, it's all right, " says I. "No come-back to it. "

"Mebby so, " says he, "but my big line, son, is forgettin' things. "

"Would this help your memory any?" says I, slippin' him a couple ofdollars. 

He grins and stows it away the kale. "Aw, you mean the party with thewild eyes, eh?" he asks. 

"Uh-huh!" says I. "I was just curious to know where you picked her up. "

"That's easy, " says he. "She came out of there, third door above. I getmost of my fares from there. "

"Oh, " says I, steppin' out for a squint. "Looks like a private house. "

"It's private, all right, " says he, "but it's a home for dippy ones. Youknow, " and he taps his head. "She's a sample. I've had her before. Theyslip out now and then. Last night she made her getaway through thebasement door. I expect she's back by now. "

"Yes, " says I, "I expect she is. "

And I don't need to ask any more. The mystery of the lovely Louise hasbeen cleared up complete. 

First off I was going to tell Ernie all about it, but when I saw himsitting there at his high desk, gazin' sort of blank at nothing at alland kind of smilin' reminiscent, I didn't have the heart. Instead, Iasks confidential, as usual:

"Any word yet from Louise?"

"Not yet, " says Ernie, "but then----"

"I get you, " says I. "And I got to hand it to you, Ernie; you're a cageyold sport, even if you don't look it. "

He don't deny. Hadn't I seen him start on his big night? And say, he'sgettin' so he can walk past that line of lady typists and give 'em theonce over without changin' color in the ears. He's almost skirt broken, Ernie is. 

CHAPTER VIII

HOW BABE MISSED HIS STEP

What Babe Cutler was plannin' certainly listened like a swell party--thekind you read about. He was going to round up three other sports likehimself, charter a nice comfortable yacht, and spend the winter knockin'about in the West Indies, with a bunch of bananas always hangin' underthe deck awning aft and a cabin steward forward mixing planter's punchevery time the sun got over the yard arm. 

"The lucky stiff!" thinks I, as I heard him runnin' over some of thedetails to Mr. Robert, who he thinks can maybe be induced to join. 

"Oh, come along, Bob!" says he. "We'll stop off for a look at Palm Beachon the way down, hang up a few days at Knight's Key for shark fishing, then run over to Havana for a week of golf, drop around to Santiago andcheer up Billy Pickens out on his blooming sugar plantation, cross overto Jamaica and have some polo with the military bunch up atNewcastle--little things like that. Besides, we can always have a gameof deuces wild going evenings and----"

"No use, Babe, " breaks in Mr. Robert. "It can't be done. That sort ofthing is all well enough for a foot-loose old bach such as you, but withme it's quite different. "

"The little lady at home, eh?" says Babe. "I'll bet she'd be glad to getrid of you for a couple of months. "

"Flatterer!" says Mr. Robert. "And I suppose you think I wouldn't bemissed from the Corrugated Trust, either?"

"I'll bet a hundred you could hand your job over to Torchy here and theconcern would never know the difference, " says Babe, winkin' friendly atme. "Anyway, don't turn me down flat. Take a day or so to think itover. "

And with that Mr. Cutler climbs into his mink-lined overcoat, slips me aten spot confidential as he passes my desk, and goes breezin' outtowards Broadway. The ten, I take it, is a retainer for me to boost theyachtin' enterprise. I shows it to Mr. Robert and grins. 

"There's only one Babe, " says he. "He'd offer a tip to St. Peter, orsuggest matching quarters to see whether he was let in or barred out. "

"He's what I'd call a perfect sample of the gay and careless sport, "says I. "How does it happen that he's escaped the hymeneal noose solong?"

"Because marriage has never been put up to him as a game, a sportingproposition in which you can either win or lose out, " says Mr. Robert. "He thinks it's merely a life sentence that you get for not watchingyour step. Just as well, perhaps, for Babe isn't what you would calldomestic in his tastes. Give him a 'Home, Sweet Home' motto and he'dtack it inside his wardrobe trunk. "

I expect that's a more or less accurate description, for Mr. Robert hasknown him a long time. And yet, you can't help liking Babe. He ain't oneof these noisy tin-horns. He dresses as quiet as he talks, and amongstrangers he'd almost pass for a shy bank clerk having a day off. He'sthe real thing though when it comes to pleasant ways of spending timeand money; from sailing a 90-footer in a cup race, to qualifying in thesecond flight at Pinehurst. No shark at anything particular, Iunderstand, but good enough to kick in at most any old game you canpropose. 

Also he's an original I. W. W. Uh-huh. Income Without Work. That wasfixed almost before he was born, when his old man horned in on a bigmill combine and grabbed off enough preferred stock to fill a packingcase. Maybe you think you have no interest in financin' Babe Cutler'scareer. But you have. Can't duck it. Every time you eat a piece ofbread, or a slice of toast or a bit of pie crust you're contributin' toBabe's dividends. And he knows about as much how flour is made as hedoes about gettin' up in the night to warm a bottle for littleTootsums. Which isn't Babe's fault any more than it's yours. As he'dtell you himself, if the case was put up to him, it's all in theshuffle. 

He must have had some difficulty organizin' his expedition, for thatsame afternoon, when I eases myself off the 4:03 at Piping Rock--havingquit early, as a private sec-de-luxe should now and then--who shouldshow up at the station but Mr. Cutler in his robin's-egg blue sportphaeton with the white wire wheels. 

"I say, " he says, "didn't Bob come out, too?"

"No, " says I. "I think he and Mrs. Ellins have a dinner party on intown. "

"Bother!" says Babe. "I was counting on him for an hour or so ofbilliards and another go at talking up the cruise. We'll land him yet, eh, Torchy? Hop in and I'll run you out home. "

So I climbs aboard, Babe opens the cut-out, and we make a skyrocketstart. 

"How about swinging around the country club and back through the middleroad? No hurry, are you?" he asks. 

"Not a bit, " says I, glancin' at the speedometer, which was touchin'fifty. 

"Nor I, " says Babe. "I'm spending my annual week-end with Sister Mabel, you know. Good old scout, Mabel, but I can't say I enjoy visiting there. Runs her house too much for the children. Only three of 'em, butthey're all over the place--climbing on you, mauling you, tripping youup. Nurses around, too. Regular kindergarten effect. And the youngstersare always being bathed, or fed, or put to sleep. So I try to keep outof the way until dinner. "

"I see, " says I. "You ain't strong for kids?"

"Oh, I don't mind 'em when they're kept in their place, " says Babe. "Butwhen they insist on giving you oatmealy kisses, or paw you with stickyfingers--no, thanks. Can't tell Mabel that, though. She seems to thinkthey are all little wonders. And Dick is just as bad--rushes home earlyevery afternoon so he can have half an hour with 'em. Huh!"

"Maybe you'll feel different, " says I, "if you ever collect a family ofyour own. "

"Me?" says Babe. "Fat chance!"

I couldn't help agreein' with him. I could see now why he'd shiedmatrimony so consistent. With sentiments like that he'd looked on SisterMabel as a horrible example. Besides, followin' sports the way he did, awife and kids wouldn't fit in at all. 

We'd made half the circle and was tearing along the middle road on theback stretch at a Vanderbilt cup gait when all of a sudden Babe jams onthe emergency and we skids along until we brings up a few yards beyondwhere this young lady is flaggin' us frantic with a pink-linedthrow-scarf. 

"What the deuce!" asks Babe, starin' back. 

"Looks like a help wanted hail, " says I. "She's got a bunch ofyoungsters with her and--yep, one of 'em is all gory. See!"

"O Lord!" groans Babe. "Well, I suppose I must. "

As he backs up the machine I stretches my neck around and takes a lookat this wayside group. Three little girls are huddled panicky aroundthis young party who wears a brown velvet tam at such a rakish angle ontop of her wavy brown hair. And cuddled up in her left arm she's holdin'a chubby youngster whose face is smeared with blood something startlin'. 

"You don't happen to be a doctor, do you?" she demands of Babe. 

"Heavens, no!" says he. 

"But perhaps you know what to do to stop nose bleeding?" she goes on. 

"Why, let's see, " says Babe. "Oh, yes! Put a cold door key on the backof his neck. "

"Or a piece of brown paper on his tongue, " I adds. 

The young lady shrugs her shoulders disappointed. "I've tried all that, "says she, "and an ice pack, too. But it's no use. I must get him to adoctor right away. There's one about a mile down this road. Couldn't youtake us?"

"Sure thing!" says Babe. "Torchy, you can hang on the back, can't you?"

"Oh, I can walk home, " says I. 

"No, no, " says Babe, hasty. "You--you'd best come along. "

So I helps load in the young lady and the claret drippin' youngster, drapes myself on the spare tires, and we're off. 

"Is it little brother?" asks Babe, glancin' at the kid. 

"Mine?" says the young lady. "Of course not. I'm Lucy Snell--one of theteachers at the public school back there at the cross-roads. Some of thechildren always insist on walking part way home with me, especiallylittle Billy here. Usually he behaves very nicely, but today he seems tobe out of luck. His nose started leaking fully half an hour ago. He musthave leaked quarts and quarts, all over himself and me. You wouldn'tthink he could have a drop left in him. I was just about crazy when Isaw you coming. There's Dr. Baker's house on the right around that nextcurve. And say, there's some speed to this bus of yours, Mr. --er----"

"Cutler, " says Babe. "Here we are. Anything more I can do?"

"Why, " says Miss Snell, as I'm unbuttonin' the door for her, "you mightstick around a few minutes to see if he wants little Billy taken to thehospital or anything. I'll let you know. " And with that she trips in. 

"Lively young party, eh?" I remarks to Babe. "Don't mind askin' for whatshe wants. "

"Perfectly all right, too, " says he, "in a case like this. She isn't oneof the helpless kind. Some pep to her, I'll bet. Lucy, eh? I always didlike that name. "

I had to chuckle. "What about the Snell part?" says I. "That one of yourfavorite names, too?"

"N--n--no, " says Babe. "But she'll probably change that some of thesedays. She's the sort that does, you know. "

"I expect you are right, at that, " I agrees. 

Pretty soon out she comes again, calm and smilin'. It's some smile shehas, by the way. Wide and generous and real folksy. And now that thescare has faded out of her eyes they have more or less snap to 'em. They're the bright brown kind, that match her hair, and the frecklesacross the bridge of her nose. 

"It's all right, " says she. "Dr. Baker says the ice pack did the trick. And he'll take Billy home as soon as he's cleaned him up a bit. Thanks, Mr. Cutler. "

"Oh, I might as well drive you home, too, and finish the job, " saysBabe. 

"Well, I'm not missing anything like that, I can tell you, " says MissSnell. "I'm simply soaked with that youngster's gore. But I live wayback on the other road. My! Billy dripped some on your seat cushions, didn't he?"

"Oh, that will wash out, " says Babe careless. "You're fond ofyoungsters, I suppose?"

"Well, in a way I am, " says she. "I'm used to 'em anyway, being one ofsix myself. That's why I'm out teaching--makes one less for Dad to haveto rustle for. He keeps the little plumber's shop down opposite thestation. You've seen the sign--T. Snell. "

"I've no doubt I have, " says Babe. "And you--you like teaching, do you?"

"Why, I can't say I'm dead in love with it, " says Miss Snell. "Not thissecond grade stuff, anyway. It's all I could qualify for, though. Thisis my second year at it. I don't suppose you ever taught second gradeyourself, did you?"

Babe almost gasps, but admits that he never has. 

"Then take my advice and don't tackle it, " says Miss Snell. "Not thatyou would, of course, but that's what I tell all the girls who think Ihave such a soft snap with my Saturdays off and a two months' summervacation. Believe me, you need it after you've drilled forty youngstersall through a term. D-o-g, dog; c-a-t, cat. Why will the little impssing it through their noses? It's the same with the two-times table. Andthey can be so stupid! I don't believe I was meant for a teacher, anyway, for it all seems so useless to me, making them go through allthat, and keeping still for hours and hours, when they want so much tobe outdoors playing around. I'd like to be out myself. "

"But after school hours, " suggests Babe, "you surely have time to go infor sports of some kind. "

"What do you mean, sports?" asks Miss Snell. 

"Oh, tennis, or horseback riding, or golf, " says Babe. 

She turns around quick and stares at him. "Are you kidding?" shedemands. "Or do you want to get me biting my upper lip? Say, on fivehundred a year, with board to pay and clothes to buy, you can't go invery heavy for sports. I did blow myself to a tennis racquet andrubber-soled shoes last summer and my financial standing has been belowpar ever since. As for spare time, there's no such thing. When I'vefinished helping Ma do the supper dishes there's always a pile of lessonpapers to go over, and reports to make out. And Saturdays I can do mywashing and mending, maybe shampoo my hair or make over a hat orsomething. Can you figure in any chance for golf or horseback riding? Ican't, even if club dues were free to schoolma'ams and the board shouldsend around a lot of spotted ponies for our use. Not that I wouldn'tlike to give those things a whirl once. I'm just foolish enough tothink I could do the sport stuff with the best of 'em. "

"I'll bet you could, too, " says Babe, enthusiastic. "You--you're justthe type. "

"Yes, " says Miss Snell, "and a fat lot of good that's going to do me. Sowhat's the use talking? In a year or so I suppose I'll be swinging abroom around my own little flat, coaxing a kitchen range to hump itselfat 6:30 a. M. , and hanging out a Monday wash for two. "

"Oh!" says Babe. "Then you've picked out the lucky chap?"

"I don't know whether he's lucky or not, " says she. "It isn't reallysettled, anyway. Pete Snyder has been hanging around for some time, andI expect I'll give in if he keeps it up. He's Dad's helper, you know, and he isn't more'n half as dumb as he looks. Gosh! Here we are. I hopenone of the kids see you bringing me home and tell Pete about it. He'dbe green in the eye for a week. Good-by, Mr. Cutler, and much obliged. "

As she skips out and up the path toward the little ramshackle cottageshe turns and flashes one of them wide smiles on Babe and gives him afriendly wave. 

"Well, " says I. "Pete might do worse. "

"I believe you, " says Babe, kind of solemn. 

Course, I didn't keep any close track of Mr. Cutler for the next fewdays. There was no special reason why I should. I supposed he was busymakin' up his quartette for that Southern cruise. So about a week laterI'm mildly surprised to hear that he's still stayin' on over at SisterMabel's. I didn't really suspicion anything until one afternoon, alongin the middle of January, when as I steps off the 5:10 I gets a glimpseof Babe's blue racer waitin' at the crossing gates. And snuggled downunder the fur robe beside him, with her cheeks pinked up by the crispair and her brown eyes sparklin', is Miss Lucy Snell. 

"Huh!" thinks I. "Still goin' on, eh? Or has Billy's little beak hadanother leaky spell?"

Couldn't have been many days after that before I comes home to find Veeall excited over some news she'd heard from Mrs. Robert Ellins. 

"What do you think, Torchy!" says she. "That bachelor friend of Mr. Robert, a Mr. Cutler, was married last night. "

"Eh!" says I. "Babe?"

"Yes, " says Vee. "And to a village girl, daughter of T. Snell, theplumber. And his married sister is perfectly wild about it. Isn't itdreadful?"

"Oh, I don't know, " says I. "Might turn out all right. "

"But--but she's a poor little school-teacher, " protests Vee, "and Mr. Cutler is--is----"

"A rich sport, " I puts in, "who's always had what he wanted. And Iexpect he thought he wanted Miss Snell. Looks so, don't it?"

I understand that Sister Mabel threw seven kinds of fits, and that thecountry club set was all worked up over the affair, specially one of theyoung ladies that had played in mixed foursomes with Babe and probablyhad the net out for him. But he didn't come back to apologize oranything like that. And the next we heard was that the happy pair hadstarted for Florida on their honeymoon. 

Well, that seemed to finish the incident. Mr. Robert hunches hisshoulders and allows that Babe is old enough to manage his own affairs. Sister Mabel calmed down, and the disappointed young ladies crossed Babeoff the last-hope list. Besides, a perfectly good scandal broke out inthe bridge playing and dancing set, and Babe Cutler's rapid littleromance was forgotten. Five or six Sundays came and went, with Mondaysfollowing regular. 

And then here the other afternoon, as I'm camped down next to the carwindow on my way home, who should tap me on the shoulder but the sameold Babe. That is, unless you looked close. For there's a worried, puzzled look in his wide set eyes and he don't spring the usual hail. 

"Hello!" says I. "Ain't lost your baggage checks, have you?"

"It's worse than that, " says he. "I--I've lost--Lucy. "

"Wha-a-t!" says I, gaspy. "You don't mean she--she's----"

"No, " says Babe. "She's just quit me and gone home. "

"But--but why?" I blurted out. 

"Lord knows, " groans Babe. "That's what I want to find out. "

Honest, it listens like a first-class mystery. According to him they'dbeen staying at one of the swellest joints he could find in the wholestate of Florida. Also he'd bought Lucy all the kinds of clothes shewould let him buy, from sport suits to evening gowns. She'd taken up alot of different things, too--golf, riding, swimming, dancing. Seemed tobe having a bully time when--bang! She breaks out into a weepy spell andannounces that she is going home. Does it, too, all by her lonesome, leaving Babe to trail along by the next train. 

"And for the life of me, Torchy, " he declares, "I can't imagine why. "

"Well, let's try to piece it out, " says I. "First off, how have you beenspending your honeymoon?"

"Oh, golf mostly, " says he. "I was runner up in the big tournament. "

"I see, " says I. "Thirty-six holes a day, eh?"

He nods. 

"And a jack-pot session with the old crowd every evening?" I asks. 

"Oh, only now and then, " says he. 

"With a few late parties down in the grill?" I goes on. 

"Not a party, " says Babe. "State's dry, you know. No, generally we wentinto the ballroom evenings and I helped Lucy try out the new steps shewas learning. "

"You did!" says I. "Then I give it up. "

"Me too, " says Babe. "But I'm not going to give up Lucy. Say, she's aregular person, she is. She was making good, too, and having a whale ofa time when all of a sudden--Say, Torchy, if it was some break I made Iwant to know it, so I can square myself. She wouldn't tell me; wouldn'thave a word to say. But listen, perhaps if you asked her----"

"Hey, back up!" says I. 

"You know, if it hadn't been for you I might never have seen her, " hegoes on. "You were there when it began, and if there's to be a finishyou might as well be in on that, too. I've got to know what it was Idid, though. Honest, I can't remember anything particularly raw. Beenchewing over it for two nights. If you could just----"

Well, at the end of ten minutes I agrees to go up to the plumber'shouse, and if the new Mrs. Cutler will see me I says I'll put it up toher. 

"But you got to come along and hang around outside while I'm doing it, "I insists. 

"I'll do anything that either you or Lucy asks, " says he. "I'll go thelimit. "

"That listens fair enough, " says I. 

So that's how it happens I'm waitin' in the plumber's parlor for BabeCutler's runaway bride. And say, when she shows up in that zippy sportsuit, just in from a long tramp across country, she looks some classy. First off she's inclined to be nervous and jumpy and don't want to talkabout Babe at all. 

"Oh, he's all right, " says she. "I have nothing against him. He--hemeant well. "

"As bad as that, was he?" says I. "I shall hate to tell him. "

"But it wasn't Babe, at all, " she insists. "Don't you dare say it was, either. If you must know, it was that awful hotel life. I--I justcouldn't stand it. "

"Eh?" says I, and I expect I must have been gawpin' some. "Why, Iunderstand you were at one of the swellest----"

"We were, " says she. "That was the trouble. And I suppose if I'd knownhow, I might have had a swell time. But I didn't. I'd had no practice. And say, if you think you can learn to be a regular winter resort personin a few weeks just try it once. I did. I went at it wholesale. All ofthe things I'd wanted to do and thought I could do, I tackled. It lookslike a lot of fun to see those girls start off with their golf clubs. Seems easy to swing a driver and crack out the little white ball. Takeit from me, though, it's nothing of the kind. Why, I spent hours andhours out on the practice tee with a grouchy Scotch professional tryingmy best to hit it right. And I couldn't. At the end of three weeks I wasstill a duffer. All I'd accumulated were palm callouses and a backache. Yet I knew just how it should be done. I can repeat it now. One--youtake your 'stance. Two--you start the head of the club back in astraight line with the left wrist. Three--you come up on your left toeand bend the right knee. And so on. Yet I'd dub the ball only a fewyards. 

"Then, when that was over, I'd go in and change for my dancing lessons. More one--two--three stuff. And say, some of these new jazz steps arequeer, aren't they? I'd about got three or four all mixed up in my headwhen I'd have to run and jump into my riding habit and go through adifferent lot of one--two--three motions. And just as I'd lamed myselfin a lot of new places there would come the swimming lesson. I thought Icould swim some, too. I learned one summer down at Far Rockaway. But itseems that was old stuff. They aren't doing that now. No, it's thedouble side stroke, the Australian crawl, and a lot more. One, two, three, four, five, six. Legs straight, chin down, and roll on thethree. And if you dream it's a pleasure to have a big husk of aninstructor pump your arms back and forth for an hour, and say sarcasticthings to you when you get mixed, with a whole gallery of fat old womenand grinning old sports looking on--Well, I'm tellin' you it's fierce. Ab-so-lutely. It was the swimming lesson that finished me. Especiallythe counting. 'Why, Lucy Snell, you poor prune, ' says I to myself, 'you're not having a good time. You're back in school, second grade, andthe dunce of the class. ' That's what I was, too. A flat failure. Andwhen I got to thinking of how Babe would take it when he foundout--Well, it got on my nerves so that I simply made a run for home. There! You can tell him all about it, and I suppose he'll never want tosee or hear of me again. "

"Maybe, " says I, "but I have my doubts. Anyway, it won't take long tomake a test. "

And when I'd left her and strolled out to the gate where Babe is pacin'up and down anxious, he demands at once: "Well, did you find out?"

"Uh-huh, " says I. 

"Was--was it something I did?" he asks trembly. 

"Sure it was, " says I. "You let her in for an intensive training actthat would make the Paris Island marine school grind look like a wanddrill. You should have had better sense, too. Why, what she was tryingto sop up in six weeks most young ladies give as many years to. Near asI can judge she was making a game play of it, too. But of course shecouldn't last out. And it's a wonder she didn't wind up at a nervesanitarium. "

"Honest!" says Babe, beamin' on me and grabbin' my hand. "Is--is thatall?"

"Ain't that enough?" says I. 

"But that's so easy fixed, " says he. "Why, I am bored stiff at theseresort places myself. I thought, though, that Lucy was having the timeof her young life. What a chump I was not to see! Say, we'll take afresh start. And next time, believe me, she's going to have just whatshe wants. That is, if I can persuade her to give me another trial. "

It seems he did, for later on he tells me he's bought that cute littlestucco cottage over near the country club and that him and Lucy aregoing to settle down like regular people. 

"With a nursery and all?" I asks. 

"There's no telling, " says Babe. 

And with that we swaps grins. 

CHAPTER IX

HARTLEY AND THE G. O. G. 'S

"Oh, I say, Torchy, " calls out Mr. Robert, as I'm reachin' for my hathere the other noon, "you don't happen to be going up near the club onyour way to luncheon, do you?"

"Not today, " says I. "I'm lunchin' with the general staff. "

"Oh!" says he, grinnin'. "In that case never mind. "

And for fear you shouldn't be wise to this little office joke of oursmaybe I'd better explain that who I meant was Hartley Grue, assistantchief of our bond room force. 

Just goes to show how hard up we are for comic stuff in the CorrugatedTrust these days when we can squeeze a laugh out of such aserious-minded party as Hartley. But you know how it is. I expect someof them green-eyed clerks on the tall stools started callin' him thatwhen the War Department first turned him loose and he reports back totackle the old job wearin' the custom tailored uniform with the gold baron his shoulders. And I admit the rest of us might have found somethingbetter to do than listen to them Class B-4 patriots who would havehelped save the world for democracy if the war had lasted a couple yearsmore. 

Still, that general staff tag for Mr. Grue tickled us a bit. As a matterof fact he did come back--from the Hoboken piers--about as military asthey made 'em. And to hear him talk about the Aisne drive and the St. Mihiel campaign and so on you'd think he must have been right atPershing's elbow durin' the whole muss, instead of at Camp Mills andlater on at the docks on a transport detail. But he gets away with it, even among us who have watched all the details of his martial career. 

For the big war gave Hartley his chance, and he grabbed it as eager as apark squirrel nabbin' a peanut. He'd been hangin' on here in the bondroom for five or six years, edgin' up step by step until he got to beassistant chief, but at that he wasn't much more'n an office drudge. Everybody ordered him around, from Old Hickory down to Mr. Piddie. Hewas one of the kind that you naturally would, being sort of meek andspineless. He'd been brought up that way, I understand, for his old manwas a chronic grouch--thirty years at a railroad ticket officewindow--and I expect he lugged his ticket sellin' disposition home withhim. 

Anyway, Hartley had that cheap, hang-dog look, like he was alwayslistenin' for somebody to hand him something rough and would bedisappointed if they didn't. And yet he was quick enough to resentanything if he thought it was safe. You'd see him scowlin' over hisbooks and he carried a constant flush under his eyes, as if he'd beenslapped recent across the face, or expected to be. Not what you'd call ahappy disposition, Hartley; nor was he just the type you'd pick out tohandle a bunch of men. 

All he had to start with was a couple of years' trainin' as a private inone of the National Guard regiments. I suppose he knew "guide right"from "left oblique" and how to ground arms without mashin' somebody'spet corn. But I don't think anybody suspected he had any wild militaryambitions concealed under that 2x4 dome of his. Yet while most of us wasstill pattin' Wilson on the back for keepin' us out of war Hartley hadalready severed diplomatic relations and was wearin' a flag in hisbuttonhole. 

When the first Plattsburg camp was organized Hartley was among the firstto get a month's leave of absence and report. He didn't make it, being alittle shy on the book stuff, besides lacking ten pounds or more for hisheight. But that didn't discourage him. He begun taking correspondencecourses, eating corn meal mush twice a day, and cutting out the smokes. And after a four weeks' whirl at the second officers' training camp hesqueezed through, coming out as a near lieutenant. Old Hickory Ellinsgasped some when Hartley showed up with the bar on his shoulders, but hegave him the husky grip and notified him that his leave was extended forthe duration of the war with half pay. 

And the next we heard from Hartley he was located at Camp Mills drillin'recruit companies. Two or three times he dropped in to say he expectedto be sent over, but each time something or other happened to keep himwithin a trolley ride of Broadway. Once he was caught in a mumpsquarantine just as his division got sailing orders, and again hedeveloped some trouble with one of his knees. Finally Hartley threw outthat someone at headquarters was blockin' him from gettin' to the front, and at last he got stuck with this dock detail, which he never got loosefrom until he was turned out for good. Way up to the end, though, Hartley still talked about getting over to help smash the Huns. I guesshe was in earnest about it, too. 

Maybe they thought when they had mustered Hartley out that they'dreturned another citizen to civilian life. But they hadn't more'n halffinished the job. Hartley wouldn't have it that way. He'd stored up alot of military enthusiasm that he hadn't been able to work off ondraftees and departin' heroes. In fact, he was just bustin' with it. Youcould see that by the way he walked, even when he wasn't sportin' theold O. D. Once more on some excuse or other. He'd come swingin' into thegeneral offices snappy, like he had important messages for the colonel;chin up, his narrow shoulders well back, and eyes front. He'd trainedVincent, the office boy, to give him the zippy salute, and if any of therest of us had humored him he'd had us pullin' the same stuff. But thoseof us that had been in the service was glad enough to give the right armmotion a long vacation. 

"Nothing doing, Hartley, " I'd say to him. "We've canned the Kaiser, ain't we? Let's forget that shut-eye business. "

And how he did hate to part with that uniform. Simply couldn't seem todo it all at once, but had to taper off gradual. First off he was onlygoing to sport it two days a week, but whenever he could invent aspecial occasion, out it came. He even got him a Sam Browne belt, whichwas contrary to orders, and once I caught him gazin' longin' in a showwindow at some overseas service chevrons and wound stripes. Course, hewore the allied colors ribbon, which passes with a lot of folks forforeign decorations; but then, a whole heap of limited service guys haveput that over. 

When it came to provin' that it was us Yanks who really cleaned up theHuns and finished the war, Hartley was right there. That was his strongsuit. He carried maps around, all marked up with the positions of ourdifferent divisions, and if he could get you to listen to him longenough he'd make you believe that after we got on the job the French andEnglish merely hung around the back areas with their mouths open andwatched us wind things up. 

"You see, " he'd explain, "it was our superior discipline and ourwonderful morale that did it. Look at our marines. Just average materialto start with. But what training! Same way with a lot of our infantryregiments. They'd been taught that orders were orders. It had beenhammered into 'em. They knew that when they were told to do a thing itjust had to be done, and that was all there was to it. We didn't waituntil we got over there to win the war. We won it here, on ourcantonment drill grounds. And I rather think, if you'll pardon my sayingso, that I did my share. "

"I'm glad you admit it, Hartley, " says I. "I was afraid you wouldn't. "

His latest bug though was this Veteran Reserve Army scheme of his. Hisidea was that instead of scrappin' this big army organization that ithad cost so much to build up we ought to save it so it would be ready incase another country--Japan maybe--started anything. He thought everyman should keep his uniform and equipment and be put on call. They oughtto keep up their training, too. Might need some revisin' of regimentsand so on, but by having the privates report, say once a week, at thenearest place where officers could meet them, it could be done. Course, some of the officers might be too busy to bother with it. Well, theycould resign. That would give a chance for promotions. And the gaps inthe enlisted ranks could be kept filled from the new classes whichuniversal service would account for. 

See Hartley's little plan? He could go on wearin' his shoulder strapsand shiny leggins and maybe in time he'd have a gold or silver poisonivy leaf instead of the bar. 

It was the details of this scheme that he'd been tryin' to work off onme for weeks, but I'd kept duckin', until finally I'd agreed to let himspill it across the luncheon table. 

"It's got to be a swell feed, though, Hartley, " I insists as I joins himout at the express elevator. 

"Will the Café l'Europe do?" he asks. 

"Gee!" says I. "So that's why you 're dolled up in the Sunday uniform, eh? Got the belt on too. All right. But I mean to wade right throughfrom hors-d'oeuvres to parfait. Hope you've cashed in your delayed payvouchers. "

I notice, too, that Hartley don't hunt out any secluded nook down in thegrill, but leads the way to a table right in the middle of the big roomon the main floor, where most of the ladies are. And believe me, paradin' through a mob like that is something he don't shrink from atall. Did I mention that Hartley used to be kind of meek actin'? Well, that was before I heard him talk severe to a Greek waiter. 

Also I got a new line on the way Hartley looks at the enlisted man. I'dsuggested that a lot of these returned buddies might have had about allthe drill stuff they cared for and that this idea of reportin' once aweek at some armory possibly wouldn't appeal to 'em. 

"They'll have to, that's all, " says Hartley. "The new service act willprovide for that. Besides, it will do 'em good, keep 'em in line. Anyway, that's what they're for. "

"Oh, " says I. "Are they? Say, with sentiments like that you must havebeen about as popular with your company, Hartley, as an ex-grand duke ata Bolshevik picnic. "

"What I was after, " says he, "was discipline, no popularity. It's whatthe average young fellow needs most. As for me, I had it clubbed into mefrom the start. If I didn't mind what I was told at home I got a bat onthe ear. Same way here in the Corrugated, you might say. I've always hadto take orders or get kicked. That's what I passed on to my men. Atleast I tried to. "

And as Hartley stiffens up and glares across the table at an imaginaryline of doughboys I could guess that he succeeded. 

It was while I was followin' his gaze that I noticed this bunch of fiveyoung heroes at a corner table. Their overseas caps was stacked on a hattree nearby and one of 'em was wearin' some sort of medal. And from thereckless way they were tacklin' big platters of expensive food, such asbroiled live lobster and planked steaks, I judged they'd been musteredout more or less recent. 

Just now, though, they seemed a good deal interested in something overour way. First off I didn't know but some of 'em might be old friends ofmine, but pretty soon I decides that it's Hartley they're lookin' at. Isaw 'em nudgin' each other and stretchin' their necks, and they seems toindulge in a lively debate, which ends in a general haw-haw. I callsHartley's attention to the bunch. 

"There's a squad of buddies that I'll bet ain't yearnin' to hear someoneyell 'Shun!' at 'em again, " I suggests. "Know any of 'em?"

"It is quite possible, " says Hartley, glancin' at 'em casual. "They alllook so much alike, you know. "

With that he gets back to his Reserve Army scheme and he sure does giveme an earful. We'd got as far as the cheese and demi tasse when Inoticed one of the soldiers--a big, two-fisted husk--wander past us slowand then drift out. A minute or two later Hartley is being paged andthe boy says there's a 'phone call for him. 

"For me?" says Hartley, lookin' puzzled. "Oh, very well. "

He hadn't more'n left when the other four strolls over, and one of thelot remarks: "I beg your pardon, but does your friend happen to beSecond Lieutenant Grue?"

"That's his name, " says I, "only it was no accident he got to be secondlieutenant. That just had to be. "

They grins friendly at that. "You've described it, " says one. 

"He was some swell officer, too, I understand, " says I. 

"Oh, all of that, " says another. "He--he's out of the service now, ishe?"

"Accordin' to the War Department he is, " says I, "but if a little planof his goes through he'll be back in the game soon. " And I sketches outhasty Hartley's idea of keepin' the returned vets on tap. 

"Wouldn't that be perfectly lovely now!" says the buddy with the medal, diggin' his elbow enthusiastic into the ribs of the one nearest him. "Wonder if we couldn't persuade him to make it two drill nights a weekinstead of one. Eh, old Cootie Tamer?"

Course, it develops that these noble young gents, before being sent overto buck the Hindenburg line, had all been in one of the companiesHartley had trained so successful. I wouldn't care to state that theywas hep to the fact that if it hadn't been for him they wouldn't haveturned out to be such fine soldiers. But they sure did take a lot ofinterest in discoverin' one of their old officers. That was natural anddid them credit. 

Yes, they wanted to know all about Hartley; where he worked; what hedid, and what were his off hours. It was almost touchin' to see howeager they was for all the details. Havin' been abroad so long, andamong foreigners, and in strange places, I expect Hartley looked likehome to 'em. 

And then again, you know how they say all them boys who went over havecome back men, serious and full of solemn, lofty thoughts. You could seeit shinin' in their eyes, even if they did let on to be chucklin' attimes. So I gives 'em all the dope I could about their dear old secondlieutenant and asks 'em to stick around a few minutes so they could meethim. 

"We'd love to, " says the one the others calls Beans. "Yes, indeed, itwould be a great pleasure, but I think we should defer it until thelieutenant can be induced to leave off his uniform. You understand, I'msure. We--we should feel more at ease. "

"Maybe that could be fixed up, too, " says I. 

"If it only could!" says Beans, rollin' his eyes at the bunch. "Butperhaps it would be better as sort of a surprise. Eh? So you needn'tmention us. We--we'll let him know in a day or so. "

Well, they kept their word. Couldn't have been more 'n a couple of dayslater when Hartley calls me one side confidential and shows me this noteaskin' him if he wouldn't be kind enough to meet with a few of his oldcomrades in arms and help form a permanent organization that wouldperpetuate the fond ties formed at Camp Mills. 

Hartley is beamin' all over his face. "There!" says he. "That's what Icall the true American spirit. And, speaking as a military man, I'veseen no better example of a morale that lasts through. It's thediscipline that does it, too. I suppose they want me to continue astheir commanding officer; to carry on, as it were. "

"Listens that way, doesn't it?" says I. "But what do the initials at theend stand for--the G. O. G. 's. ?"

"Can't you guess?" says Hartley, almost blushin'. "Grue's OverseasGraduates. "

"Well, well!" says I. "Say, that's handin' you something, eh? Lookedlike a fine bunch of young chaps. Some of 'em college hicks, I expect?"

"Oh, yes, " says Hartley. "All kinds from plumbers to multi-millionaires. Fact! I had young Ogden Twombley as company secretary at one time. Yes, and I remember docking his leave twelve hours once for being late atassembly. But see what it's done for those boys. "

"And think what they did to the Huns, " says I. "But where's this jointthey want to meet you at? What's the number again? Why, that's thePlutoria. "

"Is it?" says Hartley. "Oh, well, there were a lot of young swells among'em. I must get them interested in my Veteran Reserve plan. I'll have tomake a little speech, I suppose, welcoming them back and all that sortof thing. Perhaps you'd like to come along, Torchy?"

"Sure!" says I. "That is, so long as they don't call on me for anyremarks. How about this at the bottom, though? 'Civilian dress, please'?"

"Oh, they'd feel a little easier, I suppose, " says Hartley, "if I wasn'tin uniform. Maybe it would be best, the first time. "

So that's how it happened that promptly at 4 p. M. Next day we was shownup to this private suite in the Plutoria. Must have been kind of hardfor Hartley to give up his nifty O. D. 's, for he ain't such animpressive young gent in a sack coat. And the braid bound cutaway andstriped pants he's dug out for the occasion makes him look more like afloor walker from the white goods department than ever. But he tries tolook the second lieutenant in spite of it, bracin' his shoulders wellback and swellin' his chest out important. 

It seems the G. O. G. 's has been doin' some recruitin' meantime, forthere's a dozen or more grouped about the room, some in citizens'clothes but more still in the soldier togs they wore when they came offthe transport. And to judge by the looks of a table I got a squint atbehind a screen, they'd been doin' a little preliminary celebratin'. However, they all salutes respectful and Hartley had just started toshoot off his speech, which begins, of course: "Speaking as a militaryman----" when this Beans gent interrupts. 

"Pardon me, lieutenant, " says he, "but the members of our organizationare quite anxious to know, first of all, if you will accept the highcommand of the Gogs, so called. "

"With pleasure, " says Hartley. "And as I was about to say----"

"Just a moment, " breaks in Beans again. "Fellow Gogs, we have before usa willing candidate for the High Command. What is your pleasure?"

"Initiation!" they whoops in chorus. 

"Carried!" says Beans. "Let the right worthy Buddies proceed toadminister the Camp Mills degree. "

"Signal!" calls out another cheerful. "Four--seven--eleven! Run theguard!"

Say, I couldn't tell exactly what happened next, for I was hustled intoa corner and those noble young heroes of the Marne and elsewhere, fullof lofty aims and high ambitions and--and other things--Well, theycertainly didn't need any promptin' to carry out the order ofceremonies. Without a word or a whisper they proceeds to grab Hartleywherever the grabbin' was good and then pass him along. By climbin' on achair I could get a glimpse of him now and then as he is sent whirlin'and bumpin' about, like a bottle bobbin' around in rough water. Back andforth he goes, sometimes touchin' the floor and then again being tossedtoward the ceilin'. Two or three of 'em would get him and start rushin'him across the room when another bunch would tear him loose and beginsome maneuvers of their own. 

Anyway, runnin' the guard seems to be about as strenuous an act asanybody could go through and come out whole. It lasts until all handsseem to be pretty well out of breath and someone blows a whistle. Then acouple of 'em drags Hartley up in front of Brother Beans and salutes. 

"Well, right worthy Buddies, " says he, "what have you to reportconcerning the candidate?"

"Sorry, sir, " says one, "but we caught him tryin' to run the guard. "

"Ah!" says Beans. "Did he get away with it?"

"He did not, " says the Buddie. "We suspect he's a dud, too. "

"Very serious, " says Beans, shakin' his head. "Candidate, what have youto say for yourself?"

To judge by the hectic tint on Hartley's neck and ears he had a wholeheap he wanted to say, but for a minute or so all he can do is breathehard and glare. He's a good deal of a sight, too. The cutaway coat haslost one of its tails; his hair is rumpled up like feathers, and hiscollar has parted its front moorin's. As soon as he gets his windthough, he tries to state what's on his mind. 

"You--you young rough-necks!" says he. "I--I'll make you sweat for this. You'll see!"

"Harken, fellow Gogs!" says Beans. "The candidate presumes to addressyour Grand Worthy in terms unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. Iwould suggest that we suspend the ritual until by some means he can bebrought to his better senses. Can anyone think of a way?"

"Sure!" someone sings out. "Let's give him Days Gone By. "

The vote seems to be unanimous and the proceedin's open with BrotherBeans waggin' his finger under Hartley's nose. "Kindly recall November22, 1917, " says he. "It was Saturday, and my leave ticket read from 11a. M. Of that date until 11 p. M. Of the 23rd. You knew who was waitingfor me at the Matron's House, too. And just because I'd changed toleather leggins inside the gate you called me back and put me toscrubbing the barracks floor, making me miss my last chance at a matinéeand otherwise queering a perfectly good day. Next!"

"My turn!" sings out half a dozen others, but out of the push thatsurges toward Hartley steps a light-haired, neat dressed young gent, whowalks with a slight limp. "I trust you'll remember me, lieutenant, " sayshe. "I was Private Nelson, guilty of the awful crime of appearing atinspection with two grease spots on my tunic because you'd kept me onmess sergeant detail for two weeks and the issues of extra uniformshadn't been made. So you gave me double guard duty the day my folks cameall the way down from Buffalo to see me. Real clever of you, wasn't it?"

One by one they reminded Hartley of little things like that, withoutgivin' him a chance to peep, until each one had had his say. But finallyHartley gets an openin'. 

"You got just what you needed--discipline, " says he. "That's what madesoldiers out of you. "

"Oh, did it!" says Brother Beans. "Then perhaps a little of it wouldqualify you for the High Command. Shall we try it, Most WorthyBuddies?"

"Soak it on him, Beans!" is the verdict, shouted enthusiastic from allsides. 

"So let it be, " says Beans solemn. "And now, candidate, you are about tobe escorted forth where the elusive cigar-butt lurks in the gutter andscraps of paper litter the pavement. As an exponent of this particularbrand of discipline you will see that no small item escapes you. Shouldyou be so remiss, or should you falter in doing your full duty, you willbe returned at once to this room, where retribution waits with heavyhands. Ho, Worthy Buddies! Invest the candidate with the sacred insigniaof the empty gunny sack. "

And say, when them Gogs started out to put a thing through they did itsystematic and thorough. Inside of a minute Hartley is armed with an oldbag and is being hustled out to the elevator. As they didn't seem to betaking much notice of me, I tags along, too. They leads Hartley rightout in front of the Plutoria and sets him to cleanin' up the block. 

Course, it's a little odd to see a young gent in torn cutaway coat andtousled hair scramblin' around under taxi-cabs and dodgin' cars to pickup cigar-butts and chewin' gum papers. So quite a crowd collects. Someof 'em cheers and some haw-haws. But the overseas vets. Don't allowHartley to let up for a second. 

"Hey! Don't miss that cigarette stub!" one would call out to him. And assoon as he'd retrieved that another would point out a piece of bananapeelin' out in the middle of the avenue. He got cussed enthusiastic bysome of the taxi drivers who just grazed him, and the traffic copthreatened to run him in until he saw the bunch of soldiers bossin' thejob and then he grins and turns the other way. 

I expect I should have been more or less wrathy at seein' a brotherofficer get it as raw as that, but I'm afraid I did more or lessgrinnin' at some of Hartley's antics. It struck me, though, that hemight be kind of embarrassed if I stayed around until they turned himloose. So before he finished I edged out of the crowd and drifted off. 

I couldn't help puttin' one thing up to Brother Beans though. "Excuse mefor gettin' curious, " says I, "but when I asks Hartley what G. O. G. Stands for he made kind of a punk guess. If it ain't any deepsecret----"

"It is, " says Brother Beans, "but I think I'll let you in on it. Thename of our noble organization is 'Grue's Overseas Grouches, ' and ourhumble object is to rebuke the only taint of Prussianism which we havepersonally encountered in an otherwise perfectly good man's army. Whenwe've done that we intend to disband. "

"Huh!" says I, glancin' over to where Hartley is springin' sort of asheepish smile at a buck private who's pattin' him on the back, "I thinkyou can most call it a job now. "

CHAPTER X

THE CASE OF OLD JONESEY

And then again, you can't always tell. I forget whether it was BillShakespeare first sprung that line, or Willie Collier; but whoever itwas he said a whole bookful at once. Wise stuff. That's it. And simple, too. Yet it's one of the first things we forget. 

But to get the point over I expect I'll have to begin with thisbond-room bunch of ours at the Corrugated. They're the kind of youngsports who always think they can tell. More'n that they always will, providin' they can get anybody to listen. About any subject you canname, from whether the government should own the railroads to describin'the correct hold in dancin' the shimmy. 

This particular day though it happens to be babidolls. Maybe it wasn'tjust accident, either. I expect the sudden arrival of spring hadsomething to do with the choice of topic. For out in Madison Square parkthe robins were hoppin' busy around in the flower beds, couples weretwosing confidential on the benches, lady typists were lunchin' off icecream cones, and the Greek tray peddlers were sellin' May flowers. 

Anyway, it seemed like this was a day when romance was in the air, ifyou get me. I think Izzy Grunkheimer must have started it with thatthrillin' tale of his about how he got rung in on a midnight studiosupper down in Greenwich Village and the little movie star who mistookhim for Charley Zukor. Izzy would spin that if he got half an openin'. It was his big night. I believe he claims he got hugged or something. And he always ends up by rollin' his eyes, suckin' in his breath anddeclarin' passionate: "Some queen, yes-s-s!"

But the one who had the floor when I strolls into the bond room justbefore the end of the noon hour is Skip Martin, who helped win the warby servin' the last two months checkin' supplies for the front at St. Nazaire. He was relatin' an A. W. O. L. Adventure in which a littleFrench girl by the name of Mimi figured prominent, when Budge Haley, whowas a corporal in the Twenty-seventh and got all the way to Coblenz, crashed in heartless. 

"Cheap stuff, them base port fluffs, " says Budge. "Always beggin' youfor chocolate or nickin' you for francs some way. And as for looks, Icouldn't see it. But say, you should have seen what I tumbled into onenight up in Belgium. We'd plugged twenty-six kilometers through the mudand rain that day and was billeted swell in the town hall. The messcall had just sounded and I was gettin' in line when the Loot yanks meout to tote his bag off to some lodgin's he'd been assigned five or sixblocks away. 

"Maybe I wasn't good and sore, too, with everything gettin' cold and meas a refugee. I must have got mixed up in my directions, for I couldn'tfind any house with a green iron balcony over the front door noway. Finally I takes a chance on workin' some of my French and knocks at ablue door. Took me some time to raise anybody, and when a girl doesanswer all I gets out of her is a squeal and the door is slammed shutagain. I was backin' off disgusted when here comes this dame with thebig eyes and the grand duchess airs. 

"'Ah le bon Dieu!' says she gaspy. 'Le soldat d'Amerique! Entrez, m'sieur. ' And say, even if I couldn't have savvied a word, that smilewould have been enough. Did I get the glad hand? Listen; she hadn't seenanything but Huns for nearly four years. Most of that time she'd spenthidin' in the cellar or somewhere, and for her I was the dove of peace. She tried to tell me all about it, and I expect she did, only I couldn'tcomprenez more'n a quarter of her rapid fire French. But the idea seemedto be that I was a he-angel of the first class who deserved the bestthere was in the house. Maybe I didn't get it, too. The Huns hadn'tbeen gone but a few hours and the peace dinner she'd planned was only asketchy affair, as she wasn't dead sure they wouldn't come back. Whenshe sees me though, she puts a stop order on all that third-rate stuffand tells the cook to go the limit. And say, they must have dug up foodreserves from the sub-cellar, for when me and the Countess finally sitsdown----"

"Ah, don't pull that on us!" protests Skip Martin. "We admit the vintagechampagne, and the pâté de foie gras, but that Countess stuff has beenoverdone. "

"Oh, has it?" says Budge. "You mean you didn't see any hangin' 'roundthe freight sheds. But this is in Bastogne, old son, and there was herCountess mark plastered all over everything, from the napkins to themantelpiece. Maybe I don't know one when I get a close-up, same as I didthen. Huh! I'm telling you she was the real thing. Why, I'll bet shecould sail into Tiffany's tomorrow and open an account just on the wayshe carries her chin. "

"Course she was a Countess, " says Izzy. "I'll bet it was some dinner, too. And what then?"

"It didn't happen until just as I was leavin', " says Budge. "'Sis, ' saysI, 'vous etes un-un peach. Merci very much. ' And I was holdin' out myhand for a getaway shake when she closes in with a clinch that makesthis Romeo and Juliet balcony scene look like an old maid's farewell. M-m-m-m. Honest, I didn't wash it off for two days. And, countess ornot, she was some grand little lady. I'll tell the world that. "

"Look!" says one of our noble exempts. "You've even got old Joneseysmackin' his lips. "

That gets a big laugh from the bunch. It always does, for he's one ofour permanent jokes, old Jones. And as he happens to be sittin' humpedover here in the corner brushin' traces of an egg sandwich from hismouth corners, the josh comes in kind of pat. 

"Must have been some lady killer in his time, eh?" suggests Skip Martin. 

That gets across as a good line too, and Skip follows it up withanother. "Let's ask him, fellers. "

And the next thing old Jones knows he's surrounded by this grinnin'circle of young hicks while Budge Haley is demandin': "Is it so, Jonesey, that you used to be a reg'lar chicken hound?"

I expect it's the funny way he's gone bald, with only a fringe ofgrayish hair left, and the watery blue eyes behind the dark glasses, that got us callin' him Old Jones. Maybe the bent shoulders and hisbeing deaf in one ear helps. But as a matter of fact, I don't think he'squite sixty. To judge by the fringe, he once had a crop of sandy hairthat was more or less curly. Some of the color still holds in thebristly mustache and the ear tufts. A short, chunky party with a stubbynose and sort of a solid-lookin' chin, he is. 

But there never is much satisfaction kiddin' Jonesey. You can't get hisgoat. He just holds his hand up to his ear and asks kind of bored: "Eh, what's that?"

"How about them swell dames that used to go wild over you?" comes backSkip. 

Old Jones gazes up at Skip kind of mild and puzzled. Then he shakes hishead slow. "No, " says he. "Not me. If--if they did I--I must haveforgot. "

Which sets the bunch to howlin' at Skip. "There! Maybe that'll hold you, eh?" someone remarks. And as they drift off Jonesey tackles a slice oflunch-room pie placid. 

It struck me as rather neat, comin' from the old boy. He must haveforgot! I had a chuckle over that all by myself. What could Jonesey haveto forget? They tell me he's been with the Corrugated twenty years ormore. Why, he must have been on the payroll before some of them youngsports was born. And for the last fifteen he's held the same oldjob--assistant filin' clerk. Some life, eh?

About all we know of Old Jones is that he lives in a little back roomdown on lower Sixth Avenue with a mangy green parrot nearly as old as heis. They say he baches it there, cookin' his meals on a one-burner oilstove, never reportin' sick, never takin' a vacation, and never gettin'above Thirty-third Street or below Fourteenth. 

Course, so far as the force is concerned, he's just so much dead wood. Every shake-up we have somebody wants to fire him, or pension him off. But Mr. Ellins won't have it. "No, " says he. "Let him stay on. " And youbet Jonesey stays. He drills around, fussin' over the files, doingthings just the way he did twenty years ago, I suppose, but nevergettin' in anybody's way or pullin' any grouch. I've got so I don'tnotice him any more than as if he was somebody's shadow passin' by. Youknow, he's just a blank. And if it wasn't for them bond-room humoristscuttin' loose at him once in a while I'd almost forget whether he wasstill on the staff or not. 

It was this same afternoon, along about 2:30, that I gets a call fromOld Hickory's private office and finds this picturesque lookin' birdwith the three piece white lip whiskers and the premature Panama lidglarin' indignant at the boss. 

"Torchy, " says Mr. Ellins, glancin' at a card, "this is Señor Don PedroCassaba y Tarragona. "

"Oh, yes!" says I, just as though I wasn't surprised a bit. 

"Señor Don Pedro and so on, " adds Old Hickory, "is from Havana, and forthe last half hour he has been trying to tell me something veryimportant, I've no doubt, to him. As it happens I am rather busy on someaffairs of my own and I--er--Oh, for the love of soup, Torchy take himaway somewhere and find out what it's all about. "

"Sure!" says I. "This way, Seenor. "

"Perdone, " says he. "Say-nohr. "

"Got you, " says I, "only I may not follow you very far. About all theSpanish I had I used up this noon orderin' an omelet, but maybe we canget somewhere if we're both patient. Here we are, in my nice cozy cornerwith all the rest of the day before us. Have a chair, Say-nohr. "

He's a perky, high-colored old boy, and to judge by the restless blackeyes, a real live wire. He looks me over sort of doubtful, stroking thezippy little chin tuft as he does it, but he ends by shruggin' hisshoulders resigned. 

"I come, " says he, "in quest of Señor Captain Yohness. "

"Yohness?" says I, tryin' to look thoughtful. "No such party around herethat I know of. "

"It must be, " says he. "That I have ascertained. "

"Oh, well!" says I. "Suppose we admit that much as a starter. What abouthim? What's he done?"

"Ah!" says the Señor Don Pedro, spreadin' out his hands eloquent. "Butthat is a long tale. "

It was, too. I expect that was what had got him in wrong with OldHickory. However, he tackles it once more, using the full-arm movementand sprinklin' in Spanish liberal whenever he got stuck. Course, thisfallin' back on his native tongue must have been a relief to him, but itdidn't help me out much. Some I could guess at, and when I couldn't I'dget him to repeat it until I worked up a hunch. Then we'd take a freshstart. It's surprisin', too, how well we got along after we had thesystem doped out. 

And accordin' to the Hon. Pete this Cap. Yohness party is an Americanwho hails from New York. Don't sound reasonable, I admit, with amonicker like that, but I let the old boy spin along. Yohness had goneto Cuba years ago, way back before the Spanish-American war. I take ithe was part of a filibusterin' outfit that was runnin' in guns andammunition for the Cubans to use against the Spaniards. In fact, hementions Dynamite Johnny O'Brien as the leader of the crowd. I thinkthat was the name. Listens like it might have been, anyway. 

Well, he says this Señor Yohness is some reckless cut-up himself, for henot only runs the blockade of Spanish warships and lands his stuff, butthen has the nerve to stick around the island and even take a littletrip into Havana. Seems that was some stunt, too, for if he'd beencaught at it he'd have found a swift finish against the nearest wall. 

Course, he had to go in disguise, but he was handicapped by havin' redhair. Not so vivid as mine, the Señor assures me, but red enough so hewouldn't be mistaken easy for a Spaniard. He'd have gotten away with theact, too, if he hadn't capped it by takin' the wildest chances anybodycould have thought up. 

While he's ramblin' around Havana, takin' in all the sights and rubbin'elbows every minute with men who'd ask no better sport than giving him apermanent chest puncture if they'd known who he was, what does he do butget tangled up in a love affair. Even if his head hadn't been speciallypriced for more pesos than you could put in a sugar barrel, this was ahot time for any American to be lallygaggin' around the ladies in thatparticular burg. For the Spanish knew all about where the reconcentradoswere getting their firearms from and they were good and sore on us. Butlittle details like that don't seem to bother El Capitan Yohness a bit. When he gets in line with an oh boy! smile from behind a window grill hesmiles back and comes around for an encore. That's the careless kind ofa Yank he is. 

What makes it worse, though, is the fact that this special windowhappens to be in the Governor's Palace. And the lady herself! TheHonorable Pedro shudders as he relates it. She is none other than laSeñorita Mario, a niece of the Governor General. 

She must have had misbehavin' eyes and a kittenish disposition, for sheseems to fall for this disguised New Yorker at first sight. Most likelyit was on account of his red hair. Anyway, after one or two longdistance exchanges she drops out a note arranging a twosome in thepalace gardens by moonlight. It's a way they have, I understand. Andthis Yohness guy, he don't do a thing but keep the date. Course, he musthave known that as a war risk he'd have been quoted as payin' about athousand per cent. Premium, but he takes the chance. 

It ain't a case of bein' able to stroll in any time, either. In order tomake it he has to conceal himself in the shrubbery before sundown, whenthe general public is chased out of the grounds and a guard set at thegates. Perhaps it was worth it, though, for Don Pedro says the SeñoritaDonna Mario is a lovely lady; at least, she was then. 

Anyway, the two of 'em pulled it off successful, and they was snuggledup on a marble bench gettin' real well acquainted--maybe callin' eachother by their first names and whisperin' mushy sentiments in themoonshine--when the heavy villain enters with stealthy tread. 

It seems that Donna Mario had been missed from the Palace. Finally theword gets to Uncle, and although he's a grizzly old pirate, he canremember back when he was young himself. Maybe he had one of his sportysecretaries in mind, or some gay young first lieutenant. However itwas, he connected with a first-class hunch that on a night like this, ifthe lovely Donna Mario had strayed out anywhere she would sooner orlater camp down on a marble bench. 

Whether he picked the right garden seat first rattle out of the box, ormade two or three misses, I don't know. But when he does crash in hefinds the pair just going to a clinch. He ain't the kind of an uncle, either, who would stand off and chuckle a minute before interruptin'with a mild "Tut--tut, now, young folks!" No. He's a reg'lar movie dramauncle. He gets purple in the gills. He snorts through his mustache. Hegurgles out the Spanish for "Ha, ha!". Then he unlimbers a sword like acorn-knife, reaches out a rough hairy paw, and proceeds to yank ouryoung hero rudely from the fond embrace. Just like that. 

And here again I missed a detail or two. I couldn't make out if it wasthe pink thatch of Yohness that gave him away, or whether Uncle couldtell an American just by the feel of his neck. But the old boy got wiseright away. 

"What, " says he, like he was usin' the words as a throat gargle. "Acurs-ed Gr-r-ringo! For that you shall both die. "

Which was just where, like most movie uncles, he overdid the part. Yohness might not have been particular whether he went on livin' ornot. He hadn't acted as though he cared much. But he wasn't going tolet a nice girl like the Donna Mario get herself carved up by animpulsive relative who wore fuzzy face whiskers and a yellow sashinstead of a vest. 

"Ah, ditch the tragic stuff, Old Sport, while I sketch out how it wasall my fault, " says he, or words to that effect. 

"G-r-r-r!" says Uncle, slashin' away enthusiastic with his sword. 

If our hero had been a second or so late in his moves there would belittle left to add. But heroes never are. And when this Cap. Yohnessparty got into action he was a reg'lar bear-cat. The wicked steel merelyswished through the space he'd just left and before Uncle could get inanother swing something heavy landed on him and he was being gripped infour places. Before the old boy knew what was happening, too, thatyellow sash had been unwound and he'd been tied up as neat as an expresspackage. All he lacked to go on the wagon was an address tag and a"Prepaid" label gummed on his tummy. 

"Sorry, " says Yohness, rollin' him into the shrubbery with his toe, "butyou mustn't act so mussy when the young lady has a caller. "

"Ah! Eso es espantoso!" says Donna Mario, meaning that now he hadspilled the beans for fair. "You must fly. I must--we must both flee. "

"Oh, very well, " says Yohness. "That is, if the fleeing is good. "

"Here! Quick!" says she, grabbin' up the long cloak Uncle had beenwearing before he started something he couldn't finish. "And this also, "she adds, handin' Yohness a military cap with a lot of gold braid on it. "We will go together. The guards know me. They will think you are myuncle. Wait! I will call the carriage, as if for our evening drive. "

"Now that, " says I, as Don Pedro gets to this part of the yarn, "waswhat I call good work done. Made a clean getaway, did they?"

He nods, and goes on to tell how, when they got to the city limits, ElCapitan chucked the driver and footman off the box, took the reinshimself and drove until near daybreak, when he dropped the fair DonnaMario at the house of an old friend and then beat it down the pike untilhe saw a chance to leave the outfit and make a break into the woods. 

"And I expect he was willin' to call it a night after that, eh?" says I. "Reg'lar thrill hound, wasn't he? What became of him?"

"Ah!" says Don Pedro. "It is for that I come to you. "

"Oh, yes, so you have, " says I. "I'd most forgotten. Yes, yes! You stillhave the idea I can trace out Yohness for you? Suppose I could, though, how would you be sure it was the same one, after so many years? Got anymark on him that----"

"Listen, " says Don Pedro. "El Capitan Yohness possesses a ring ofpeculiar setting--pale gold--a large dark ruby in it. This was given himthat night by the Señorita Donna Mario. He swore to her never to partwith it until they should meet again. They never have, nor will. She isno more. For years she lived hidden, in fear of her life. Then the warcame. Her uncle was driven back to Spain. Later her friend died, but sheleft to Donna Mario her estate, many acres of valuable sugar plantation, and the house, Casa Fuerta. It is this estate which Donna Mario in turnhas willed to her valiant lover. I am one of the executors. So I ask youwhere is El Capitan Yohness?"

"Yes, I know you do, " says I. "But why ask me? How do you hook up theCorrugated Trust with any such wild----"

"See, " says Don Pedro, producin' a yellow old letter. "This came toDonna Mario just before the war. It is on the note paper of your firm. "

"Why, that's so!" says I. "Must have been when we were in the oldbuilding, long before my time. But as far as--Say, the name ain'tYohness. It's Jones, plain as day. "

"Yes, Yohness, " says Don Pedro, spellin' it out loud, "Y-o-n-e-s. Yousee, in Spanish we call it Yohness. "

He don't say it just like that, either, but that's as near as I can getit. Anyway, you'd never recognize it as Jones. 

"Well, " I goes on, "I don't know of anybody around the place now whowould fit your description. In fact, I don't believe there's anybody bythe name of--Yes, there is one Jones here, but he can't be the party. Heisn't that kind of a Jones. "

"But if he is Señor Jones--who knows?" insists Don Pedro. 

Then I has to stop and grin. Huh! Old Jonesey bein' suspected of everpullin' stuff like that. Say, why not have him in and tax him with it. "Just a sec. , " says I. "You can take a look yourself. "

I finds Jonesey with his head in a file drawer, as usual, and withoutspillin' anything of the joke I leads him in and lines him up in frontof Don Pedro. 

"Listen, Jonesey, " says I. "This gentleman comes from Havana. Were youever there?"

"Why, ye-e-e-es. Once I was, " says Jonesey, sort of draggy, as if tryin'to remember. 

"You were?" says I. "How? When?"

"It--it was a long time ago, " says Jonesey. 

"Perdone, " breaks in Don Pedro. "Were you not known as Señor ElCapitan?"

"Me?" says Jonesey. "Why--I--some might have called me that. "

"Great guns!" I gasps. "See here, Jonesey; you don't mean to say you'vegot the ring too?"

"The ring?" says he, tryin' to look blank. But at the same time I noticehis hand go up to his shirt front sort of jerky. 

"The ring of the Señorita Donna Mario, " cuts in Don Pedro eager. 

That don't get any hysterical motions out of him, though. He just standsthere, lookin' from one to the other of us slow and dazed, as ifsomething was tricklin' down into his brain. Once or twice he rubs adingy hand over his bald head. It seemed to help. 

"Donna Mario, Donna Mario, " he repeats, half under his breath. 

"Yes, " says I. "And isn't that something like the ring you're coverin'up there under your shirt bosom? Let's see. "

Without a word he unbuttons his collar, slips a looped string over hishead, and holds out a ring. It's a big ruby set in pale gold. 

"That is the ring of Donna Mario, " says Don Pedro. 

"Hal-lup, " says I. "Jonesey, do you mean to say you're the same one whosailed with Dynamite Johnny, risked your neck to go poking aroundHavana, made love to the Governor General's niece, trussed him up like aroasting turkey when he interfered, and escaped with her in the palacecoach through whole rafts of soldiers who'd have been made rich forlife if they'd shot you on sight? You!"

"That--that was a long time ago, " says Jonesey. 

And if you will believe me, that's about all he would say. Wasn't evenmuch excited over the fact that a hundred thousand dollar sugarplantation was about to be wished on him. Oh, yes, he'd go down with DonPedro and take possession. Was the grave of Donna Mario there? Then hewould go, surely. 

"I--I would rather like to, " says Old Jonesey. 

"Huh, " says I. "You better stick around until tomorrow noon. I want youto hear what I've got to feed to that bond-room bunch. "

Jonesey shakes his head. No, he'd rather not. And as he shuffles back tohis old files I hears him mumblin', sort of soft and easy: "Donna Mario. Ah, yes! Donna Mario!"

Which proves, don't it, that you can't always tell. Even when the partyhas such a common name as Jones. 

CHAPTER XI

AS LUCY LEE PASSED BY

Someone put on that Tales of Hoffman record, please, with a soft needle. Thanks. Now if you'll turn out all but one bulb in the old rose-shadedelectrolier and pass the chocolate marshmallows maybe I'll try to sketchout for you this Lucy Lee-Peyton Pratt version of the sweetest storyever told. 

We got Lucy Lee on the bounce, as it were. She really hadn't come allthe way up from Atlanta to visit Vee even if they were oldboardin'-school chums. No, she was on her way to a house party up inLenox and was fillin' in the time before that happened by making a dutystay with an old maid aunt who lived on Madison Avenue. But when itdevelops that Auntie is taking the buttermilk cure for dyspepsia, hasgrown too deaf to enjoy the theater, and is bugs over manipulatin' theOuija board, Lucy Lee gets out her address book and begins callin' upold friends. 

I don't know how far down Vee was on the list but she seems to be thefirst one to fall easy. When she hears how bored Lucy Lee is on MadisonAvenue she insists on her coming right out with us. So I get my ordersto round up Lucy Lee when I'm through at the office and tow her outhome. Hence this openin' scene in the taxi where I finds myself beingsized up coy and curious. 

There's only one way of describin' Lucy Lee. She's a sweet young thing. Nothing big or bouncy about her. No. One of these half-portions. Butcute and kittenish from the tip of her double A pumps to the floppy hatbrim which only half hides a dangerous pair of eyes. 

"So good of you, Mr. Ballard, " says she, shootin' over a shy look, "totake all this trouble for poor little me. "

"It's a gift, " says I. "Comes natural. What about baggage?"

"I've sent a few things by express, " says she. "Thank you so much, Mr. --er--Do you know, I've heard such a lot about you from dear Vee thatI simply must call you Torchy. "

"If it's a case of must, " says I, "then go to it. "

I'll admit it was a bit sudden, but Lucy Lee is such a chummy youngparty, and so easy to get acquainted with, that it don't seem odd afterthe first few times. First off she wants to know all about the baby, andwhen I've shown her the latest snapshot, and quoted a couple of hisbright remarks, translated free, she announces right off that he must bewonderful. 

"Simp-ly wonderful!" is Lucy Lee's way of puttin' it, as she gazesadmirin' at me. 

Course, I don't deny it. Then she wants to know how long we've beenliving out on Long Island, and what the house is like, and about my workwith the Corrugated Trust, and as I give her the details she listenswith them big eyes gettin' wider and wider. 

"Simp-ly wonderful!" says Lucy Lee. 

And somehow, just by workin' that system, she begins to register. Firstoff I was only kind of amused by it. But before we'd driven a dozenblocks I was being rapidly convinced that here, at last, was somebodywho really understood. You know how it is. You feel that you're a greatstrong noble man, so wise in the head that there's no use tryin' toconceal it from eyes like that; and yet so kind and generous that youdon't mind talking to any simple young person who might be helped by it. 

Oh, yes. A half hour with Lucy Lee and you're apt to need an elastic hatband. You never knew you could reel off such entertainin' chat. Why, without half tryin' I could start that ripply laugh of hers going andget the dimples playin' tag with her blushes. By the time we gets home Ifeels like a reg'lar guy. 

"Cute little thing, ain't she?" I remarks to Vee durin' the forty minutewait while Lucy Lee dresses for dinner. 

"Oh, yes, " says Vee, with a knowin' smile. "That is her specialty, Ibelieve. She's a dear though, even if she doesn't mean quite all of it. "

"Ah, why wake me up!" says I, grinnin'. 

It was next mornin' though that I got my big jolt, when an express truckbacks up with about a ton of baggage. There was only two wardrobetrunks, a hat trunk, and a steamer trunk, and the men unloads 'em all. 

"Hal-lup!" says I, when they staggers in with the last one. "Who'smovin' in?"

Seems it's the few little things that Lucy Lee needs for the week-end. "I've told her to send for her maid, " says Vee. "It was stupid of me notto think of that before, knowing Lucy Lee. "

And later, when I've been called in to help undo the straps, I gets aglimpse of the exhibit. Morning and afternoon frocks in one, eveninggowns in another, the steamer trunk full of shoes, besides all the hats. 

"Huh!" says I, on the side to Vee. "Carries all her own scenery, don'tshe? Say, there's enough to outfit a Ziegfeld song revue. "

What got the biggest gasp out of me though, was when Lucy Lee unpacksher collection of framed photos and ranges 'em on the mantel anddressin'-table. More'n a dozen, all men. 

"You don't mean, Lucy Lee, " says Vee, "that these are all--er--on theactive list?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, " says Lucy Lee, springin' the babystare. "They are simply some of my men friends. For instance, this isdear old Major Knight, who's chairman of some board or other that Daddyis a director on. He is so jolly and is always saying--Well, never mindthat. This one is Victor Norris, who tried so hard to get into aviationand was just about to fly when the war had to go and end it. He's aperfectly heavenly dancer. Then there's poor Arthur Kirby, only asecretary to some senator, but such a nice boy. And the one in the navaluniform is Dick--er--Well, I met him at a dinner in Washington justbefore he got his discharge and he told me so many thrilling thingsabout chasing submarines in the North Sea or--or the Mediterranean orsomewhere. Hasn't he nice eyes, though? And this next one----"

Well, I forget the rest for about then I got busy wonderin' how shecould keep the run of 'em all without the aid of a card index. But shecould. To Lucy Lee life must seem like a parade, she being the givenpoint. Which was where I begun to agree with Vee that there ought to bea fourth plate put on the table, for over Sunday, at least. 

"But who'll I get?" I asks. 

"Silly!" says Vee. "A man, of course. Any man. "

"All right, " says I. "I'll try to collect somebody, even if I have todraft Piddie. "

Saturday afternoon is apt to be more or less of a busy time at theCorrugated though, so it's near noon before I remembers my promise andbegins to look around panicky. No, Mr. Piddie couldn't oblige. He'dplanned to take the fam'ly to the Bronx. Sudders, our assistant auditor, was booked for an all day golf orgie. I'd almost decided to kidnapVincent, our fair-haired office boy with the parlor manners, when Ihappened to pass through the bond room and gets a glimpse of this PeytonPratt person lingerin' at his desk. He's diggin' a time-table out of asuitcase. 

"Whither away, Peyton?" says I. 

"Oh!" says he, sighin' discontented. "I suppose I must run up and spendthe day with my married sister in New Haven. "

"Why act so tickled over it?" says I. 

"But I'm not, really, " says Peyton. "It isn't that I am not fond ofEthel, and all that sort of thing. Walter--that's her husband--is a goodsort, too, and the children are nice enough. But it's quite a trip totake for such a short visit--and rather expensive, you know. I've justbeen figuring up. "

So he had. There on an office pad he's jotted down every item, includingthe cost of a ten-word day message and the price of a box of candy forthe youngsters. He hadn't sent the wire yet, or bought the candy. 

"Got your dinner coat in there?" I asks, noddin' to the suitcase. 

He says he has. 

"Then listen, " says I. "Cross New Haven off the map for this time andlemme put you next to a week-end that won't set you back a nickel. Haven't seen my place out on Long Island yet, have you; or met the newheir to the house of Torchy?"

"Why--why, no, I haven't, " hesitates Peyton. 

"High time, then, " says I. "It'll all be on me, even to lettin' youpunch in on my trip ticket. Eh? What say?"

Havin' known Peyton Pratt for some years I could pretty near call theturn. That free round trip ought to be big casino for him. And it was. Course, he protests polite how he couldn't allow me to put up for hisfare, and adds that he's heard so much about my charmin' little fam'lythat he can't really afford to miss such a chance. 

"Sure you can't!" says I, smotherin' a grin. 

Not that Peyton is one of your common cheap skates. That ain't the ideaat all. He's a buddin' financier, Peyton is; one of theselittle-red-notebook heroes, who wear John D. Mottoes pasted in theirhats and can tell you just how Carnegie or Armour or Shonts or any ofthem sainted souls laid up their first ten thousand. 

He's got all that thrift dope down fine, Peyton has. Why, he don't licka postage stamp of his own but it gets entered in the little oldexpense account along with the extra doughnut he plunged on at thedairy lunch. He knows that's the way to win out for he's read it inmagazine articles and I'll bet every time he passes the Sub-Treasury helifts his lid reverent. 

I expect it's something Peyton was born to, for his old man was a bankcashier and his two older brothers already have their names up on windowgrills, he tells me, while an uncle of his is vice-president of aninsurance company. So it's no wonder Peyton is a reg'lar coupon hound. His idea of light readin' is to sit down with "Talks to Investors" onone knee and the market report on the other. Give him a forenoon off andhe'd spend it down at the Clearing House watchin' 'em strike the dailybalance. Uh-huh. The only way he can write U. S. Is in a monogram--likethis--$$

Not such a bad-lookin' chap though; tall, slim and dark, with a longstraight nose and a well-developed chin. Course he's got kind of abilious indoor complexion, and them thick glasses don't add to hisbeauty. You can imagine too, that his temperament ain't exactlyfrivolous. Hardly! Yet he thinks he's a great jollier when he wants tobe. Also he likes to have me kid him about bein' such a finicky dresser, for while he never splurges on anything sporty, he's always neat andwell dressed. 

"Who's the little queen that all this is done for?" I asks him once. 

"When I have picked her out I'll let you know, Torchy, " says he, blinkin' foxy. 

Later on though he tells me all about it confidential. He admits likin'well enough to run around with nice girls when it can be done withoutdanger of being worked for orchestra seats or taxi fares. But there wasno sense gettin' in deep with any particular one until a feller was sureof a five figure income, at least. 

"Huh!" says I. "Then you got time enough to train one up from thecradle. "

"Oh, I don't know, " says he. "Anyway, I shall wait until I find one withtastes as simple as my own. "

"You may, " says I, "and then again--Well, I've seen wiser guys than yourushed off their feet by fluffy young parties whose whole stock in tradewas a pair of misbehavin' eyes. "

"Pooh!" says Peyton. "I've been exposed to that sort of thing as oftenas anyone. I think I'm immune. "

"Maybe you are, " I has to admit. 

So as I tows Peyton out to the house that afternoon I kind of hands itto myself that I've filled Vee's order. And there standing on the frontveranda admirin' the lilacs is Lucy Lee in one of her plain littlefrocks--a pink and white check--lookin' as fresh and dainty andinexpensive as a prize exhibit from an orphan asylum. 

I whispers to Vee on the side: "Well, you see I got him. Peyton'ssomeone she can practice on, too, and no harm done. He's casehardened. "

"Really, " says Vee, lookin' him over. 

"Admits it himself, " says I. 

"Oh, well, then!" says Vee, with one of her quizzin' smiles. 

And at first it looked like Peyton was about to qualify as an all-'roundexempt. He barely seemed to see Lucy Lee. While she was unreelin' thesprightly chatter he was inspectin' the baby, or talkin' with Vee, oraskin' fool questions about the garden. Hardly takes a second glance atLucy Lee. I expect he had her sized up as about sixteen. He could easymake that mistake. 

Maybe that's what started her in on this brisk offensive at dinner. Nothing high-school girly about Lucy Lee when she floats down the stairsat 7:15. It's a grown-up evenin' gown she's wearin' this time. No doubtthen whether or not she'd had her comin' out. The only question waswhere she was going to stop comin' out. Not that it wasn't simpleenough, but it sure was skimpy above the belt. 

After his first gasp you could see Peyton sittin' up and takin' notice. Couldn't very well help it, either, for Lucy Lee sure had the net out. Ihadn't noticed them big innocent eyes of hers brought into full playbefore but now she cuts loose regardless. And Peyton, he is right inrange. She's givin' him samples of them Oh-you-great-big-wonderful manlooks. You know. And inside of ten minutes Peyton don't know whetherhe's bein' passed the peas or is being elected second vice-president ofsomething. 

And I'd always classed Peyton as a cold storage proposition! You shouldsee the way he thaws out, though. Why, he tells funny stories, throwsoff repartee, and spreads himself generally. That long sallow face ofhis got tinted up like he'd had a beauty parlor treatment, and hisserious eyes got to sparklin' behind the thick panes. 

As for Vee and me, we swapped an amused glance now and then and enjoyedthe performance. After the coffee, when Lucy Lee has led him out on theeast terrace to see the full moon come up, they just naturally campeddown in a swing seat and opened up the confidential chat. By the deeprumble we could tell that Peyton was carryin' the big end of theconversation. 

"I know, " says I. "Lucy Lee is makin' him tell how he's goin' to haveWall Street eatin' out of his hand some day, and every once in a whileshe's remarkin': 'Why, Mr. Pratt! I think you're wonderful; simp-lywonderful!'"

"But I thought you said, " puts in Vee, "that he was--er--case hardened?"

"Oh, he's just playin' the game, " says I. "Maybe it's gone to his head alittle tonight, but when it comes time to duck--You'll see. "

One of my pet notions has always been that breakfast time is the trueacid test for this romance stuff. Specially for girls. But next morningLucy Lee shows up in another little gingham effect, lookin' as fresh andsmilin' as a bed of tulips. And the affair continues right on fromthere. It lasts all day and all that evenin' except when Lucy Lee wasmakin' another quick change, which she does about four times accordin'to my count. And each costume is complete--dress, hat, shoes, stockingsall matchin'. The only restless motions Peyton makes, too, are durin'these brief waits. 

"Entertainin' young party, eh?" I suggests to him as Lucy Lee does oneof her sudden flits. 

"A most interesting and charming girl, " says Peyton. 

"Some class, too. What?" I adds. 

"If you mean that she dresses in excellent taste, I agree with you, "says he. "Such absolute simplicity, and yet----" Peyton spreads out hishands eloquent. "Why can't all girls do that?" he asks. "It wouldbe--er--such a saving. I've no doubt she makes them all herself. "

"If she does, " says I, "she must have put in a busy winter. "

"Oh, I don't know, " says Peyton. "They're all such simple little things. And then, you know--or possibly you don't--that Lucy--er--I mean MissVaughn, is a surprisingly capable young woman. Really. There's so muchmore to her than appears on the surface. "

"Tut, tut, Peyton!" says I. "Ain't you gettin' in kind of deep?"

"Don't be absurd, Torchy, " says he. "Just because I show a littlenatural interest in a charming young woman it doesn't follow that----"

"Look!" says I. "Someone's givin' you the come-on signal. "

Course, it's Lucy Lee. She's changed to an afternoon costume, sort of anold blue effect with not a frill or a ruffle in sight but witheverything toned in, from the spider-webby hat to the suede slippers. And all she has to do to bring Peyton alongside is to tilt her chininvitin'. 

We only caught glimpses of 'em the whole afternoon. And that Sundayevenin' the porch swing worked overtime again. I know both Vee and medid a lot of yawnin' before they finally drifts in. I'd never seenPeyton quite so chirky. He even goes so far as to smoke a cigarette. Andnext mornin', as he leaves reluctant with me to catch the 8:03 express, he stops me at the gate to give me the hearty grip. 

"I say, old man, " says he husky, "I--I never can tell you how grateful Iam for--for what you've done. "

"Then let's forget it, " says I. 

"Forget!" says he, smilin' mushy. "Never!"

At lunch time he asks me which of the Fifth Avenue photographers I thinkis the best. 

"Eh?" says I, grinnin'. "Thinkin' of havin' yourself mugged and sendin'the result to somebody in a silver frame?"

"Well, " says he draggy, "I--I've been meaning to have some picturestaken for several years, and now----"

"Got you, " says I. "But if you want something real swell let me tow youto a place I know of on Fifty-fifth. "

Honest, I wasn't thinking about the Maison Noir at the time or that itwas just next door. In fact, it was Peyton himself who stops in front ofthe show window and grabs me by the arm. 

"I say!" says he, pointin' in at the exhibit. "See--see there. "

He's pointin' to a display of checked gingham frocks, blue and white andpink and white, with hats to match. 

"Yes, " says I, "do look sort of familiar, don't they?"

"Why, " he goes on, "they're almost exactly like those of--of Lucy's; thesame simple lines, the same material and everything. "

"Classy stuff, " says I. "Come along, though. The picture place is nextdoor, upstairs. "

Peyton still stands there gawpin'. "Such a coincidence, " he's murmurin'. "I wonder, Torchy, if one could find out about how much they ask forsuch things in a place like this. "

"Easiest thing in the world, " says I. "Just blow in and get 'em to giveyou quotations. "

"Oh, but I wouldn't dare do that, " says he. "It would seem so--so----"

"Not at all, " says I. "As it happens, this joint is one where Vee doesmore or less shoppin', when she's feelin' flush, and I've often beenwith her. If you're curious we'll breeze in and get their prices. "

Peyton was right there with the curiosity, too. And the lady vamp withthe long string of beads danglin' from her neck didn't seem to think itodd for us to be interested in checked ginghams. 

"Ah, yes-s-s!" says she, throwin' open the back doors of the showwindow. "Zey are great bargains, those. Marked down but las' week. Theeswan--m-m-m-m--only $68; but wiz ze hat also, $93. "

And the gasp that gets out of Peyton sounds like openin' an airbrake. 

"Nine-ty three dollars!" says he. "For a simple little thing like that?Why, that seems to be rather exorbitant!"

"Mais non!" says the lady vamp, shruggin' her shoulders. "They are whatyou call simple, yes. But they are chic, too. One considers that. Las'week come a young lady from Atlanta who in one hour takes two dozen atonce, and more next day. You see!"

Peyton was beginning to see. But he wanted to be dead sure. "FromAtlanta?" says he. "Not--not a--a Miss Vaughn?"

"Mais oui!" says Madame, clappin' her hands enthusiastic. "The ver' one. You know her? Yes?"

"I--I thought I did, " says Peyton, sort of weak, as he starts for thedoor. 

He calls off the picture proposition. Says he ain't quite in the mood. And all that day he seems to have something on his mind that he couldn'tunload. Three or four times he seems to be just on the point of statin'it to me but never can quite get a start. And next day he's a good dealthe same. He was like that when I left the office about 4 p. M. To catchan early train. I could about guess what was troublin' him. 

So I wasn't much surprised, just before dinner to see Peyton appearin'at our front gate. 

"I--I'm sure I don't know what you'll think of me, Torchy, " he beginsapologizing "but I--I just had to----"

"Too bad!" says I. "You're only four hours late. Lucy Lee left for Lenoxon the 2:10. "

"Gone!" says he. "But I thought----"

"Yes, she did plan to stay longer, " says I, "but it was a bit slow forher here, and when she got a wire that a certain Captain Wright was tobe at his sister's for a few days' furlough--Well, inside of an hour sheand her maid had packed and were on their way. Oh, yes, and there goesthe rest of Lucy Lee's baggage now. "

The express truck was just rollin' around from the side door. Peytonstares at the load goggle-eyed. "But--but you don't mean that all ofthose trunks are hers?" he demands. 

"Uh-huh, " says I. "I helped strap 'em up. And one of them wardrobes, Peyton, carries about twenty-five of those little checked dresses. Thehats go in the square affair, and the shoes in the steamer trunk. Thirty-eight pairs, I believe. Just enough for a week-end. Then in thatbulgy-topped trunk----"

But Peyton ain't listenin'. He's just standin' there, with a dazed, stunned look in his eyes like he'd just been missed by an express train. But his lips are movin'. I got the idea. He was doin' mentalarithmetic--twenty-five times ninety-three. And he was gettin' a pictureof a thousand dollar income lyin' flat on its back. 

When he comes to be asks me faint when he can get back to town. No, hewon't stay for dinner. "Thank you, " says he, "but I couldn't. I'm toomuch upset. I fear that I--I've made a dreadful mistake, Torchy. "

"About Lucy Lee?" says I. "Don't worry. All you've done is come nearcontributin' another silver frame to her collection. You just happenedto find a free field, that's all. Otherwise it would have been a casewhere you'd stood in line. "

Course Peyton don't believe a word of it. He still thinks he's had adesperate affair. He don't know whether he's safe yet or not. All he cansee is rows and rows of figures assaultin' that poor little expense bookof his. I expect he thinks he's entitled to wear a wound stripe over hisheart. 

Yesterday we had a bread-and-butter note from Lucy Lee mostly tellingwhat a whale of a time she was havin' up at Lenox. 

"Anything about Peyton?" I asks. 

"Why, no, " says Vee. "But she says the dear captain is----"

"I know, " says I. "Simp-ly wonderful. "

CHAPTER XII

TORCHY MEETS ELLERY BEAN

Course, I was sayin' it mostly to kid Vee along. I expect I'm nearly asstrong for this suburban life stuff as she is, but whenever she gets abit gushy about it, which she's apt to such nights as we've been havin'recent, with the moon full and the summer strikin' its first stride, I'mapt to let on that I feel different. 

You see, she'd towed me out on the back terrace to smell how sweet thehoneysuckle was and watch the moon sail up over the tall locust treesbeyond the vegetable garden. 

"Isn't it a perfectly gorgeous night, Torchy?" says she. "And doesn'teverything look so calm and peaceful out here?"

"May look that way, " says I, "but you never can tell. I like the countryin the daytime all right, but at night, especially these moonyones, --Well, I don't know as I'll ever get used to 'em. "

"How absurd, Torchy!" says Vee. 

"Makes things look so kind of spooky, " I goes on. "All them shadows. Howdo you know what's behind 'em? And so many queer noises. There! Listento that!"

"Silly!" says she. "That's a tree-toad. I hope you aren't afraid ofthat. "

"Not if he's a tame one, " says I. "But how can you tell he ain't wild?And there comes a whirry-buzzin' noise. "

"Yes, " says she. "A motor coming down the macadam. There, it's turnedinto our road! Perhaps someone coming to see us, Goosie. "

Sure enough, it was. A minute later Mr. And Mrs. Robert Ellins weregivin' us the hail out front. It seems they'd come to pick us up to makea call with them on some new neighbors. 

"Who?" asks Vee. 

"You couldn't guess, " says Mrs. Robert. "The Zoscos. "

"Really!" says Vee. "I thought they were----"

"Yes, " chimes in Mrs. Robert, "I suppose they are, too. Ratherimpossible. But I simply must try that big pipe organ I hear they've putin. Bob thinks it's an awful thing to do. See how shocked he looks. ButI've promised not to stay more than half an hour if the movie magnate isin anything more startling than a placid after-dinner state, or if theplace is cluttered up with too many screen favorites. And I think Bobwants Torchy to go along as bodyguard. So won't you both come? What doyou say?"

Trust Vee for takin' a dare. She'll try anything once. I expect she'dbeen some curious all along to see what this new Mrs. Zosco lookedlike. "What was it you said she used to be called, Torchy?" she demands. 

"'Myrtle Mapes, the Girl With the Million Dollar Smile, ' was the way shewas billed, " says I. "But them press agents don't care what they sayhalf the time. And maybe she only smiles that way when the camera's setfor a close-up. "

"I don't care, " says Vee. "I think it would be great fun to go. "

As for me, I didn't mind, one way or the other. I'd seen this AndresZosco party plenty of times, ridin' back and forth on the train. He'deven offered to pick me up in his limousine and give me a lift once whenI was hikin' up from the station. And I must say he wasn't just my ideaof a plute movie producer. 

Nothin' imposin' about Mr. Zosco. Hardly. Kind of a dumpy, short-leggedparty, with a round smooth face, sort of mild brown eyes, and his hairworn in a skinned diamond effect. You'd never take him for a guy who'dgo out and buy a Hudson River steamer and blow it up just for the sakeof gettin' a thousand feet of film, or put on a mob scene with enoughpeople to fill Times Square like an election night. No. He was usuallyreadin' seed catalogues and munchin' salted peanuts out of a paper bag. 

It was early last spring that he'd bought this Villa Nova place, a mileor so beyond the Ellinses, and moved out with the bride he'd picked outof his list of screen stars. I don't know whether he expected the PipingRock crowd to fall for him or not. Anyway, they didn't. They justshuddered when his name was mentioned and stayed away from Villa Novasame as they had when that Duluth copper plute, who'd built the freaknear-Moorish affair, tried the same act. But it didn't look like theZoscos meant to be frozen out so easy. After being lonesome for a monthor so they begun fillin' their 20 odd bedrooms with guests of their ownchoosin'. Course, some of 'em that I saw arrivin' looked a bit rummy, but it was plain the Zoscos didn't intend to bank on the neighbors forcompany. Maybe they didn't want us crashin' in either, as Mr. Robertsuggests. 

You couldn't worry Mrs. Robert with hints like that, though. She's agood mixer. Besides, if she'd made up her mind to play that new pipeorgan you could pretty near bet she'd do it. So inside of three minutesshe had us loaded into the car and off we rolls to surprise the Zoscos. 

Villa Nova, you know, is perched on the top of quite a sizable hill, with a private road windin' up from the Pike. As you swing in you passan odd-shaped vine-covered affair that I suppose was meant for agate-keeper's lodge, though it looks like a stucco tower that had beendropped off some storage warehouse. 

Well, we'd just made the turn and Mr. Robert had gone into second totake the grade when I gets a glimpse of somebody doin' a hasty duck intothe shrubbery; a slim, skinny party with a plaid cap pulled down overhis eyes so far that his ears stuck out on either side like young wings. What struck me as kind of odd, though, was his jumpin' away from thedoor of the lodge as the car swung in and the fact that he had a basketcovered with a white cloth. 

"Huh!" says I, more or less to myself. 

"What's the matter?" asks Vee. "Seeing things in the moonlight?"

"Thought I did, " says I. "Didn't you, there by the gate!"

"Oh, yes, " says she. "Some lilac bushes. "

And not being any too sure of just what I had seen I let it ride atthat. Besides, there wasn't time for any lengthy debate. Next thing Iknew we'd pulled up under the porte cochère and was pilin' out. We findsthe big double doors wide open and the pink marble entrance hall all litup brilliant. Grouped in the middle of it, in front of a fountain bankedwith ferns, are about a dozen people who seem to be chatterin' awayearnest and excited. 

"Why, how odd!" says Mrs. Robert, hesitatin' with her thumb on the bellbutton. 

"Looks like a fam'ly caucus, " says I. "Maybe they heard we were comingand are taking a vote to see whether they let us in or bar us out. "

I could make out Andres Zosco in the center of the bunch wearin' asilk-faced dinner coat and chewin' nervous on a fat black cigar. Also Icould guess that the tall chemical blonde at his right must be thecelebrated Myrtle Mapes that used to smile on us from so manybillboards. To the left was a huge billowy female decorated generouswith pearl ropes and ear pendants. Then there was a funny little old guyin a cutaway and a purple tie, a couple of squatty, full-chested womendressed as fancy as a pair of plush sofas, a maid or so, and a pie-facedscared-lookin' gink that it was easy to guess must be the butler. Everybody had been so busy talkin' that they hadn't heard us swarm upthe steps. 

"I say, " whispers Mr. Robert, "hadn't we better call it off?"

"And never know what is going on?" protests Vee. "Certainly not. I'mgoing to knock. " Which she does. 

"There!" says I. "You've touched off the panic. "

For a minute it looked like she had, too, for most of 'em jumpsstartled, or clutches each other by the arm. Then they sort of surgestowards the doorway, Zosco in the lead. 

I expect he must have recognized some of us for he indulges in acackly, throaty laugh and then waves us in cordial. "Excuse me, " sayshe. "I--thought it might be somebody else. Mr. Ellins, isn't it? Pleasedto meet you. Come right in, all of you. "

And after we've been introduced sketchy all round Mr. Robert remarksthat he's afraid we haven't picked just the right time to pay a call. "We--we are interrupting a family council or something, aren't we?" heasks. 

"Oh, glad to have you, " says Zosco. "It's nothing secret, and perhapsyou can help us out. We're a little upset, for a fact. It's about mybrother Jake. He's been visiting us, him and his wife, for the pastweek. Maybe you've seen him ridin' round in the limousine--short, thick-set party, good deal like me, only a few years younger. "

Mr. Robert shakes his head. "Sorry, " says he, "but I don't recall----"

"Oh, likely you wouldn't notice him, " goes on Zosco. "Nothing fancyabout Jake, plain dresser and all that. But what gets us is how he couldhave lost himself for so long. "

"Lost!" echoes Mr. Robert. 

"Well, he's gone, anyway, " says Zosco. "Disappeared. Since after dinnerlast night and----"

"Oh, Jake, Jake!" wails the billowy female with the pearl ropes. 

"There, there, Matilda!" put in Zosco. "Never mind the sob stuff now. He's all right somewhere, of course. He'll turn up in time. Bound to. Itain't as if he was some wild young sport. Steady as a church, Jake. Nobad habits to speak of. Not one of the kind to go slippin' into town ona spree. Not him. And never carries around much ready money or jewelry. No holdup men out here, anyway. "

"But--but he's gone!" moans Matilda. 

"Sure he is, " admits Zosco. "Maybe back to Saginaw. Something might havehappened at the store. Or he might have got word that some cloak andsuit jobber was closing out his fall goods at a sacrifice and got sobusy in town making the deal that he forgot to let us know. That wouldbe Jake, all right, if he saw a chance of turnin' over a few thousands. "

"Would he go bareheaded, and without his indigestion tablets?" demandsMrs. Jake. 

"If it was another bargain like that lot of army raincoats, he'd go inhis pajamas, " says Zosco. 

But Matilda shakes her head. She's sure something awful has happened toJake. Now that she thinks it over she believes he must have hadsomething on his mind. Hadn't they noticed how restless he'd been forthe past few days? Yes, both the squatty women had. And the funny littleguy in the long-tailed cutaway brought up how Jake had quit playingbilliards with him, even after he'd offered to start him 20 up. 

"But that don't mean anything, " says Zosco. "Jake never could playbilliards anyway. Hates it. He's no sport at all, except maybe when itcomes to pinochle. He's all for business. Don't know how to take a realvacation like a gentleman. I'm always telling him that. "

Gradually we'd all drifted into the big drawin' room, but Jake continuesto be the general topic. We couldn't help but get kind of interested inhim, too. When a middle-aged storekeeper from Saginaw gets up fromdinner, wanders out into a quiet, respectable community like ours, anddisappears like he'd dropped from a manhole or been swished off on anairplane it's enough to set you guessin'. By askin' a few questions wegot the whole life history of Jake, from the time he left Lithuania as aboy until he was last seen gettin' a light for his cigar from thebutler. We got all his habits outlined; how he always slept with acorner of the sheet over his right ear, couldn't eat strawberrieswithout breaking out in blotches, and could hardly be dragged out to seea show or go to an evening party where there were ladies. Yet here on avisit to Villa Nova he goes and strays off like he'd lost his mind, orgets himself kidnapped, or worse. 

"Why, " says Mr. Robert, "it sounds like a real mystery, almost a casefor a Sherlock Holmes. "

I don't know why, either, but just then he glances at me. "By Jove!" hegoes on. "Here you are, Torchy. What do you make out of this?"

"Me?" says I. "Just about what you do, I expect. "

"Oh, come!" says he. "Put that rapid fire brain of yours to work. Tryhim, Mr. Zosco. I've known him to unravel stranger things than this. Iwould even venture to say that he has hit on a clue while we've beentalking. "

Course, a good deal of it is Mr. Robert's josh. He's always springin'that line. But Zosco, after he's looked me over keen, shrugs hisshoulders doubtful. Mrs. Jake, though, is ready to grab at anything. 

"Can you find him?" she asks, starin' at me. "Will you, young man?"

Also I gets an encouragin', admirin' glance from Vee. That settles it. Iwas bound to make some sort of play after that. Besides, I did have kindof a vague hunch. 

"I ain't promisin' anything, " says I, "but I'll give it a whirl. Firstoff though, maybe you can tell me what youth around the place wears ablack-and-white checked cap?"

That gets a quick rise out of the former Myrtle Mapes, now Mrs. Zosco. "Why--why, " says she, "my brother Ellery does. "

"That's so, " put in Zosco. "Where is the youngster?"

"Ellery?" says Myrtle, givin' him that innocent baby-doll look. "Oh, hemust be in his room. I--I will look. "

"Never mind, " says I. "Probably he is. It doesn't matter. Visiting here, too, eh? How long? About two weeks. And he comes from----"

"From my old home, Shelby, North Carolina, " says she. "But he isn't theone who's missing, you know. "

"That's so, " says I. "Gettin' off the track, wasn't I? Shows what a poorsleuth I am. And now if I can have the missing man's hat I'll do alittle scoutin' round outside. "

"His hat!" grumbles Zosco. "What do you want with that?"

"Why, " says I, "if I find anyone it fits it's likely to be Jake, ain'tit?"

"Of course, " says Matilda. "Here it is, " and she hands me a seven andthree-quarters hard boiled lid with his initials punched in the sweatband. 

That move gave 'em something to chew over anyway, and kind of took theirminds off what I'd been askin' about Ellery. For after hearin' about himI knew I hadn't been mistaken about seein' somebody down by the lodge. That's right where I makes for. 

As I gets to the bottom of the hill I slips through the hedge and walkson the grass so if there should be anyone at the gate they wouldn't hearme. And say, that was a reg'lar hunch I'd collected. Standing there inthe moonlight is the youth in the checked cap. 

Near as I can make out he's a narrow-chested, loose-jawed young hick of19 or 20 and costumed a good deal like a village sport. You know--slitcoat pockets, a high turn-up to his trousers, bunion-toed shoes, and anecktie that must have been designed by a wall-paper artist who'd beenshell-shocked. On his left arm he has a basket partly covered by anapkin. Also he's just handin' something in through a little windowabout a foot above his head. 

Course, it don't take any super-brain to guess that there must beanother party inside the lodge. What would Ellery be passin' stuffthrough the window for if there wasn't? And anybody inside couldn't verywell get out, for the only door is a heavy, iron-studded affairpadlocked on the outside and the little window is covered with anornamental iron grill. Besides, as I edges up closer, I hears talkinggoing on. It sounds like the inside party is grumblin' over something orother. His voice sounds hoarse and indignant, but I can't get what it'sall about. When the youth in the checked cap gave him the come-backthough it was clear enough. 

"Aw, shut up, you big stiff!" says he. "You're lucky to get coldchicken and bread and jam. Where do you think I'm goin' to get hotcoffee for you, anyway? Ain't I runnin' a chance as it is, swipin' thisout of the ice-box after the servants leave? It's more'n you deserve, you crook. "

More grumbles from inside. 

"Yah, I got the cigars, " says the other, "but you don't get 'em untilyou pass out them dishes. Think I can stick around here all night? Andremember, one peep to your pals, or to anyone else, and my trusty guardswill start shootin' through the window. Hey? How long? Until we get 'emall into the net. So you might as well quit your belly-achin' andconfess. "

It was a more or less entertainin' dialogue but I thought I'd enjoy itmore if I could hear both sides. So I was workin' my way through thebushes with my ear stretched until I was within almost a yard of thewindow when I steps on a dry branch that cracks like a cap pistol. In aflash the youth has dropped the basket and whirled on me with a longcarvin' knife. Which was my cue for quick action. 

"'Sall right, Ellery, " says I. "Friend. "

"What friend?" he demands, starin' at me suspicious. 

"You know, " says I, whisperin' mysterious. 

"Oh!" says he. "From Headquarters?"

"You've said it, " says I. 

"But--but how can I tell, " he goes on, "that you ain't----"

"Look!" says I, throwin' back my coat and runnin' my thumb under thearmhole of my vest. 

Sure it worked. Why, if you flash a nickel-plated suspender buckle quickenough you can pass it for a badge even by daylight. 

"I didn't think you'd get my letter so soon, " says Ellery. "I'm glad youcame, though. See, I've got one of the gang already. He's theringleader, too. "

"Fine work!" says I. "But what's the plot of the piece? You didn't makethat so clear. Is it a case of----"

"Hist!" says Ellery. "I ain't told him how much I know. Let's get offwhere he can't hear. Back in the bushes there. "

And when we've circled the lodge and put some shrubbery between us andthe road Ellery consents to open up. 

"They're tryin' to do away with Sister Maggie, " says he. "You know whoshe is--Mrs. Andres Zosco?"

"But I thought she was Myrtle Mapes, " says I. 

"Ah, that's only her screen name, " says Ellery. "It was Maggie Bean backin Shelby, where we come from. And she was Maggie Bean when she went toNew York and got that job as a stenog. In old Zosco's office. It washim that gave her a chance to act in the movies, you know. Guess shemade good, eh? And then Zosco got so stuck on her that he married her. Well, that was all right, too. Course, he's an old pill, but he's gotall kinds of dough. Rollin' in it. Maggie's done a lot for the fam'ly, too. Gave me a flivver all for myself last Christmas; took me out of thecommission house and started me in at high school again. She's rightthere with the check book, Maggie. 

"That's what makes them other Zoscos so sore--that Brother Jake and hiswife. See? They'd planned all along comin' in for most of his pilethemselves. Most likely meant to put him out of the way. But when theycomes on and finds the new wife--Well, the game is blocked. It would goto her. So they starts right in to get rid of Maggie. I hadn't been inthe house a day before I'd doped that out. I knew there was a plot on todo Maggie. "

"You don't say!" says I. "How?"

"Slow poison, I expect, " says Ellery. "In her coffee, maybe. Anyway, ithad begun to work. Maggie was mopin' around. I found her cryin'. Ispotted Jake Zosco right off. You can tell just by lookin' at him thathe's that kind. Besides, he acts suspicious. Always prowlin' aroundrestless. Then there's the butler. He's in it, too. I caught him andJake whisperin' together. I don't know how many more. Some of the maids, maybe, and most likely a few men on the outside. They might be plannin'to stage a jewel robbery with a double murder and lay it all ontounknown burglars. Get me?"

"Uh-huh!" says I. "But how much have you got on Brother Jake? And howdid you come to get him locked up here?"

"Oh, I had the goods on Jake, all right, " says Ellery. "After I saw himconfabbin' with that crook butler the other night I shadows himconstant. I was on his trail when he sneaks down here after dinner. Isaw him unlock the lodge house. I heard him fumblin' around inside. ThenI slips up and locks him in. Half an hour later down comes the butlerand two others of the gang, but when they sees me they beats it. Iexpect they'd try to rescue him, if they thought he was there. And theymay find out any minute. "

"That's right, " says I. "Lucky I came out just as I did. There's onlyone thing to do. "

"What's that?" asks Ellery. 

"Lug Jake up to the house, confront him with the butler, tell 'emthey're both pinched, and give 'em the third degree, " says I. "You'llsee. One or the other will break down and tell the whole plot. "

"Say!" gasps Ellery. "Wouldn't that be slick! Just the way they do inthe movie dramas, eh?"

I had to smother a chuckle when that came out, for I'd alreadyrecognized some of the symptoms of a motion picture mind while Ellerywas sketchin' out this wild tale. 

"Go to the movies much down in Shelby?" I asks. 

"Most every night, " says Ellery. "I used to even before Maggie got intothe game. Begun goin' when I was 'leven. At first I was strong for thisWild West stuff, but no more. Give me a good crook drama with a bigpunch in every reel. They're showin' some corkers lately. I've seen 'emabout all. That's how I come to get wise to this plot of Jake Zosco's. Come on! Got your wrist irons ready for him?"

"Oh, I never use the bracelets unless I have to, " says I. "I expecthe'll toddle along meek enough when he sees the two of us. "

I hadn't overstated the case much at that. Course, Jake Zosco hasdeveloped more or less of a grouch durin' his 36 hours of solitaryconfinement, but when Ellery orders him to march out with his hands uphe comes right along. 

"What foolishness now, you young rough necker?" he demands. 

"You'll soon find out how foolish it is, " says Ellery. "You're in thehands of the law. "

"Wha-a-at!" gasps Jake. "For such a little thing as that? It--it can'tbe. Who says it of me?"

"Isn't this your hat?" says I, handin' him the hail-proof kelly. "Itis, eh? Then you're the one. Come on, now. Right up to the house. "

"It's a foolishness, " he protests. "In Saginaw it couldn't be done. "

All the way up the hill he mutters and grumbles but he keeps on going. Not until he gets near enough to get a glimpse of all the people in thedrawin'-room does he balk. 

"Matilda and all!" says he. "Why couldn't we go in by the back?"

"Nothing doin', " says Ellery, flourishing his knife. "You're goin' toface the music, you are. "

"That's the way to talk to him, Ellery, " says I. "But if you don't mindI think I'd better take charge of him from now on. "

"Sure thing, " says Ellery. "He's your prisoner. "

"Then in you go, Jake, " says I. "And don't forget about keepin' thehands up. Now!"

Say, you should have seen that bunch when our high tragedy trio marchesin; Ellery with his butcher knife on one side; me on the other; andleadin' in the center Mr. Jake Zosco, his arms above his head, hisdinner coat all dusty and wrinkled, and a two days' stubble of whiskersdecoratin' his face. 

It was Mrs. Jake who got her breath first and swooped down on her littleman with wild cries of "Oh, Jake! My own Jakey at last!" And in anothersecond his head is all tangled up with the pearl ropes. 

Next Andres Zosco comes to. "What is it, a holdup act?" he asks. "Ellery, what you doing with that knife? What's it all about, somebody?"

That seems to be my cue, so I steps to the front. "Sorry, Mr. Zosco, "says I, "but Ellery has discovered a deep laid plot. "

"Eh?" says Zosco, gawpin'. 

"To do away with you and your wife, " I goes on. "He says your brotherJake is in it, and Mrs. Jake, and the butler, and maybe a lot of others. Isn't that right, Ellery?"

"Yep, " says Ellery. "They're all crooks. "

"What confounded tommyrot!" says Zosco. "Why--why, Jake wouldn't hurt afly. "

"Tell what you saw, Ellery, " I prompts. 

"I heard 'em plottin', " says Ellery. "Anyway, I saw Jake and the butlerwhisperin' on the sly. And they planned to meet down at the lodge withthe others. I think that dago chauffeur was one. But I foiled 'em. Ifollowed Jake when he sneaked into the lodge house and locked him in. Then I wrote to the chief detective at Headquarters and they sent outthis sleuth to help me round 'em up. " He finishes by wavin' at metriumphant. 

And you might know that would get a chuckle out of Mr. Robert. "Oh, yes!" says he. "Detective Sergeant Torchy!"

Meanwhile Andres Zosco is starin' from one to the other of us andscratchin' his head puzzled. "I can't get a word of sense out of itall, " says he. "Not a word. Jake, let's hear from you. Where have youbeen since night before last after dinner?"

Jake pries himself loose from the billowy embrace and advances sheepish. "Why--why, " says he, "I was locked in that fool lodge house. "

"You were, eh?" says Zosco. "But how did that happen? What did you go inthere for?"

"Aw, if you must know, Andy, it--it was pinochle, " he growls. "It ain'ta crime, is it, a little game?"

"What about the butler, though, and the others?" insists Zosco. 

"Why, " says Jake, "they was goin' to be in it, too. Can't play pinochlealone, can you? And in a place like this where there's nothing goin' onbut silly billiards, or that bridge auction, a feller's gotta find someamusement, ain't he? Saginaw they comes to the house 'most everynight--Hoffmeyer and Raditz and----"

"Yes, I know, " breaks in Zosco. "So that was the plot, was it, Ellery?"

Ellery registers scorn. "Huh!" says he. "Don't let him put over any suchfish tale on you. Ask him about the slow poison in Maggie's coffee, andstealin' the jewels, and--and all the rest. "

"Why, Ellery!" gasps Mrs. Zosco. 

"Didn't I catch you snifflin'?" demands Ellery. "And ain't you beenmopin' around?"

"Oh!" says she. "But that was before Andy had promised to let me playthe lead in his new eight-reel feature, 'The Singed Moth. ' I've beenchipper enough since, haven't I, Andy, dear?"

"Slow poison!" echoes Zosco. "Jewel stealing! Murder plots! Boy, wheredid you get such stuff in your head?"

But Ellery can only drop his chin and scrape his toe. 

"I expect I can clear up that mystery, " says I. "As a movie fan Elleryis an ace. "

And then it was Zosco's turn to stare. I don't know whether it got clearhome to him then or not. He was just about to separate himself from someremark on the subject when Mrs. Jake cut loose with another squeal. 

"Why, Jake Zosco!" says she. "Look at you! Like a tramp you are. "

"Well, why not?" says Jake. "Didn't I sleep last night in awheelbarrow?"

And when the folks you're callin' on get to droppin' into intimatepersonal remarks like that it's time to back out graceful. I guess evenMrs. Robert decides this wasn't just the evenin' to play the pipe organ. Before we'd got out they'd opened up the subject of what to do withyoung Ellery Bean and the prospects were that he was due for a quickreturn to Shelby, N. C. 

"I don't see what good that's going to do, " says Vee. "I should say thathe needed some kind of mental treatment. Why, his poor foolish headseems to be filled with nothing but crime and crooks. I don't understandhow he could get that way. "

"You would, " says I, "if you'd take a full course of Zosco films. "

CHAPTER XIII

TORCHY STRAYS FROM BROADWAY

"I must say it listens kind of complicated, " says I, after Vee hasexplained how I am to arrive at this country house weddin' fest. 

"Why, Torchy, it's perfectly simple, " says she. 

And once more she sketches out the plan, how I'm to take the express toSpringfield, catch a green line trolley that's bound northwest, get offat Dorr's Crossing, and wait until this Barry Crane party picks me up inhis car. 

You see this friend of Vee's who's billed for the blushin' bride act hasdecided to have the event pulled off at Birch Crest, the family's summerhome up in the hills of old N. H. Vee has promised to motor up the daybefore with the bridesmaid, leavin' me to follow the next mornin'. Butwhen we come to look up train schedules it develops that the only way toget to Birch Crest by train is via Boston. 

"How about runnin' up to Montreal and droppin' down?" I suggestssarcastic. 

And then comes the word that this organist guy will be on his way upacross lots, after an over-night stop in New Haven, and will take meaboard if I can make the proper connection. 

"Suppose I make a slip, though?" says I. "There I'll be stranded up inthe pie belt with nothing but my feet to ride fifty miles on. Sorry, Vee, but I guess your old boardin' school chum will have to break intomatrimony without my help. "

Maybe you think that settled it. If you do you ain't tried beingmarried. Inside of half an hour we'd agreed on the usual compromise--I'mto do as Vee says. 

So here at 11:15 on a bright summer mornin' I'm dumped off a trolley carway out on the upper edge of Massachusetts. It's about as lonesome aspot as you could find on the map. Nothing but fields and woods insight, and a dusty road windin' across the right of way. Not a house tobe seen, not even a barn. 

"You're sure this is Dorr's Crossin', eh?" I asks of the conductor as Ihesitates on the step. 

"Oh, yes, " says he, cheerful. 

"Don't seem to be usin' it much, does he?" says I. 

"Ding, ding!" remarks the fare collector to the motorman, and it was acase of hoppin' lively for me. 

There's nothing left to do but hoist myself conspicuous onto aconvenient wayside rock and hope that this Barry Crane person wasrunnin' somewhere near on time. About then I begun to wish I knew moreabout him, his general habits and so on. Was his memory good? Could hebe depended on to keep dates with strangers? Would he know Dorr'sCrossing when he saw it?

Vee hadn't touched on any of these points when she was convincin' me howsimple it would be for him and me to get together. Course, she'd givenme a chatty little sketch of Mr. Crane, but mostly it had been aboutwhat a swell organist he was. Played in a big church. Not only that, butmade up pieces, all out of his own head. Also she'd mentioned about hishopeless romance with a certain Ann McLeod. 

Seems Barry had been strong for Miss McLeod for five or six years. She'dkind of strung him along at first, too. Couldn't help likin' Barry some. Everybody did. He was that kind--good natured, always sayin' cleverthings. You know. But when it came to hitchin' up with him permanent, Miss McLeod had balked. Nobody knew just why. Bright girl, Ann. Brainy, too, and with lots of pep. She was secretary for some big efficiencyexpert. Maybe that was why she couldn't stand for Barry's musicaltemperament. She thought 9 a. M. Was absolutely the last call for pushin'back the roll-top and openin' the mornin' mail, while Barry's idea ofbeginnin' a perfect day was for someone to bring in a breakfast trayabout eleven o'clock and hand him a cigarette before he tumbled out ofthe straw. So while he'd qualified as a Dear Old Thing and she'd got tothe point where she'd let him call her Playmate Mine, that's where theromance hung on the rocks. Also he'd been described as a chunky partywith a round face decorated with a cute little mustache and baby blueeyes. 

All of which don't help me dope out how long I'm due to lend a humannote to an otherwise empty landscape. And there's more excitin' outdoorsports than sittin' on a rock waitin' to be rescued by someone whohasn't even seen a snapshot of you. I'll tell the world that. During thefirst twenty minutes I answered two false alarms. One was a gasolinetruck going the wrong way and the other turns out to be an R. F. D. Flivver with a baby's go-cart tied on the side. It was good and hot onthe perch I'd picked out and I could feel the sun doing things to theback of my neck and ears, but I didn't dare climb down for fear I'd bemissed. 

Where was this musical gent and his tourin' car? Or would it be alimousine? Somehow from the way Vee had talked, sayin' he was bugs onmotorin', I sort of favored the limousine proposition. Uh-huh. Mostlikely one lined with cretonne, and a French chauffeur at the wheel. Butnothing like that was rollin' past Dorr's Crossing. Not while I waswatchin'. 

The rock wasn't gettin' a bit softer, either. Once a bluejay balancedhimself on a nearby bush and after lookin' me over curious screechedhimself hoarse tryin' to say what he thought of a city guy who didn'tknow enough to get in the shade. It got to be noon. Still no BarryCrane. I was just wonderin' when that trolley car was due for a returntrip and was workin' up a few cuttin' remarks to hand Vee when I got heron the long distance, when I hears something approachin' from down theroad. First off I thought it might be one of these hay mowers runnin'wild, but pretty soon out of a cloud of dust jumps a little roadster. Itsure was humpin' itself and makin' as much noise about it as a ThirdAvenue surface car with two flat wheels. Didn't look very promisin' butI got up and stretched my neck until I saw there was two people in it. Next thing I knew though one of 'em, a young lady, is motionin' to me, and with a squeal of brake bands the little car pulls up opposite therock. And sure enough the young gent drivin' has a sketchy mustache andbaby blue eyes. 

"What ho!" he sings out cheerful. "Torchy, isn't it? Sorry if we've keptyou waiting, but Adelbaran wasn't performing quite as well as usual thismorning. Stow your bag on the fender and climb in. "

"In where?" says I, glancin' at the single seat. 

"Oh, really there's plenty of room for three, " says the young lady. "Andfor fear Barry will forget to mention it, I am Miss McLeod. He persuadedme at the last minute to come with him in this crazy machine. "

"Oh, I say, Ann!" protests Barry. "Not so rough, please. You've nonotion how sensitive Adelbaran is to unkind criticism. Besides, he'sbrought us safely so far, hasn't he?"

Ann shrugs her shoulders and moves over to make room for me. "If you canmake another fifty miles in it I shall almost believe in miracles, " saysshe. 

"And in me too, I trust, " says Barry. "Hearest thou, Adelbaran? Then on, on, pride of the desert! The women are singing in the tents and--and allthat sort of thing. Ho, ho! for the roaring road!"

He's some classy little driver, Barry. Inside of a hundred yards he hasher doin' better than twenty-six on an up grade over a dirt roadsprinkled free with rocks and waterbreaks. Slam bang, bumpety-bump, ding-dong we go, with more jingles and squeaks and rattles than a junkcart rollin' off a roof. 

"Don't mind a few little noises, " says Miss McLeod. "Barry doesn't. Aloose fender or a worn roller bearing means nothing to him. Why, hestarted with a cracked spark-plug that was spitting like a tom-cat, thecarburetor popping from too lean a mixture, and a half filled radiatorboiling away merrily. It was stopping to get those things fixed up, andhaving some air pumped into the spare tire, that made us so late. "

"You see!" says Barry. "She admits it. Wonderful girl though, Ann. Shecan tell at a glance just what's the matter with anything or anyone. Take me, for instance; she----"

"Sharp curve ahead, Barry, " breaks in Ann. 

"Right-o!" says he, takin' it on two wheels and then stepping on the gasbutton to rush a hill. 

"Lucky we're wedged in tight, " says I, "or some of us might be spilledout. "

"Yes, " says Miss McLeod, "and Barry never would miss us. "

"Cruel words!" says Barry. "How often have I said, Ann, that I miss youevery hour?"

"He's off again, " says Ann. "But if you must be sentimental, Barry, Ishall insist on doing the driving myself. "

"Squelched!" says Barry. "I'll be good. "

Say, they made a great team, them two, when it came to exchangin'persiflage. It was snappy stuff and it helped a lot towards taking mymind off Barry's jazz-style drivin'. For he sure does bear down heavywith his foot. If he plays the organ the way he runs a car I shouldthink he'd raise the roof. And the speed he gets out of that dinkylittle roadster is amazin'. Might have been all right on smooth macadam, but on this country road he had her jumpin' around on that shortwheel-base like a jackrabbit with the itch. We might have been so manykernels of pop-corn being shaken over a hot fire. Barry seems to beenjoyin' every minute of it, though. He makes funny cracks, whistles, and now and then breaks into song. 

"Driving a car seems to go to his head, " remarks Miss McLeod. "Itappears to make him wild. " "It does, " says Barry. "For----

 I'm a wild prairie flower, I grow wilder hour by hour. Nobody cares to cultivate me, I'm wild. Whe-e-e-e!"

He warbles that for the next five minutes, until Miss McLeod suggeststhat it's time for lunch. 

"Let's stop at the next shady place we come to, " says she. 

"Oh, bother!" says Barry. "Just when Adelbaran is striking his bestpace. Why not take our nourishment on the fly?"

So she gets out the sandwiches and the thermos bottle and we take itthat way. Rather than let Barry take either hand off the wheel she feedshim herself, even if he does complain about gettin' his countenancesmeared up with mustard some. Anyway, we didn't lose any time if we didspill more or less of the coffee. 

"Cheerie oh!" sings out Barry, readin' a sign board. "Only twenty milesmore!"

"But such up-and-downy miles!" says Ann. 

She was dead right about that, for the further we got into New Hampshirethe more the road looked like it had been built by a roller coaster fan. I always had a notion this was a small state, from the way it looks onthe map, but I'll bet if it could be rolled flat once it would spreadout near as big as Texas. All we did was to climb up and up and thenslide down and down. Generally at the bottom was one of these coveredwooden bridges, like a hay barn with both ends knocked out, and the waywe'd roar through those was enough to make you think you was goin'forward with a barrage. Then just ahead would be another long hillwindin' up to the top of the world. 

"Only five miles to go!" sings out Barry at last, along about threeo'clock. "Now, Ann, it's nearly time for you to be saying a few kindwords to Adelbaran and me. "

"I'll be thinking them up, " says Ann. 

Perhaps she did. I can't say. For it was somewhere in the middle of thesecond or third hill after this that the little roadster began tosplutter and cough like it had swallowed a monkey wrench. 

"Come, come now, Adelbaran!" says Barry coaxin'. "Don't go misbehavingat this late hour. Remember the women singing in the tents, the palmwaving over the----"

"Barry, " says Ann, "something has gone wrong with your engine. "

"Say not so, " says Barry, steppin' on the accelerator careless. 

"But I'm sure!" says Ann. "There!"

With a final cough the thing has quit cold. All Barry can seem to dothough is to jiggle the spark and look surprised. "Why--why, that'sodd!" says he. 

"Yes, but sitting here isn't going to help, " says Miss McLeod. "Get outand see what's happened. Come on. "

And while she's liftin' the hood and pawin' around among the wires andthings, with Barry lookin' on puzzled and helpless, I sort of wandersabout inspectin' Adelbaran curious. It's some relic, all right, and myguess is that it was assembled by a cross-eyed mechanic from choicepieces he rescued off'm a scrap heap. All of a sudden I noticessomething peculiar. 

"Say, folks, " I calls out, "where's the gas tank on this chariot?"

"Why, it's on the back, " says Barry. 

"Well, it ain't now, " says I. "It's gone. "

"Gone!" echoes Ann. "The gas tank? Oh, that can't be possible. "

"Take a look, " says I. 

And sure enough, when they comes around all they can find is the rustedstraps that held it in place and the feed pipe twisted off short. 

"Ha, ha!" says Barry. "How utterly absurd. I've rattled off a lot ofthings before, but never the gas tank. And I suppose that's ratherimportant to have. "

"Quite, " says Ann. "One doesn't go motoring nowadays without one. "

"But--but what's to be done?" says Barry. "I simply must get to BirchCrest in time to play the wedding march. The ceremony is to be at 4:30, you know, and here we are----"

"I should say, " breaks in Ann, "that we'd better find that tank and seeif we can't screw it on or something. It can't be far behind, ofcourse. "

That seemed sensible enough. So we spreads out across the road and goesscoutin' down the hill. Didn't seem likely a thing as big as that couldhide itself completely, even if it had bounced off into the bushes. Butwe got clear to the bottom without findin' so much as its track. On wegoes, pawin' through the bushes, scoutin' the ditches on both sides, andpeekin' behind trees. 

"Come, little tankey, come to your master, " calls Barry persuasive. Thenhe tries whistlin' for it. 

"Well, we're sure to find it somewhere down that next hill, " says Ann. "Probably near that water-break where you gave us such a hard jolt. "

But we didn't. In fact, we scouted back over the road for nearly a milewith no signs of the bloomin' thing. 

"Then we've missed it, " finally decides Ann. "Of course no car could runthis far without gas. "

"You don't know Adelbaran, " says Barry. "He's quite used to runningwithout things. I've trained him to do it. "

"Barry, this is no time to be funny, " says she. "Now you take the leftside going back. I'll bet you overlooked it. "

Well, we made a regular drag-net on the return trip, scourin' the bushesfor twenty feet on either side, but no tank turns up. 

"Looks like we were stranded, " says I, as we fetches up at the roadsteronce more. 

Miss Ann McLeod, though, ain't one to give up easy. Besides, she's hadall that efficiency trainin'. 

"I don't suppose you carry such a thing as an emergency can of gasolineanywhere in the car?" she asks Barry. 

"I'm sure I don't know, " says he. "The fellow in the garage insisted onselling me a lot of stuff once. It's all stowed under the seat. "

"Let's see, " says she, liftin' out the cushion. "Why yes, here it is--awhole quart. And a little funnel, too. Now if we could pour enough intothe feed pipe to fill the carburetor----"

It was a grand little scheme, only the funnel end was too big to fitinto the feed pipe. 

"Any tire tape?" demands Ann. 

Barry thought there was, but we couldn't find it. Then he rememberedhe'd used it to wrap the handle of his tennis racquet once. 

"I got some gum, " says I. 

"The very thing!" says Ann. "It must be chewed first though. Here, Barry, take two or three pieces. "

"But I don't care for gum, " says Barry. "Really!"

"If you don't wish to spend the night here, chew--and chew fast, " saysAnn. 

So he chewed. We all chewed. And with the three fresh gobs Ann did afirst aid plumbin' job that didn't look so worse. She got the funnel soit would stick on the pipe. 

"But it must be held there, " she announces. "I'll tell you, Barry; youwill have to hang out over the back and keep the funnel in place withone hand and pour in the gas with the other, while I drive. "

"Oh, I say!" says Barry. "I'd look nice, wouldn't I?"

"Torchy will hold you by the legs to keep you from falling off, " shegoes on. "Come, unbutton the back curtain and roll it up. There! Now outyou go. And don't spill a drop, mind. "

It sure was an ingenious way of feedin' gas to an engine, and I had mydoubts about whether it would work or not. But it does. First thing Iknew we'd started off with a roar and were tearin' up the hill onsecond. We made the top, too. 

"Now hold tight and save the gas, " sings out Ann. "I'm going to coastdown this one full tilt. "

Which she does. Barry bounces around a lot on his elbows and stomach, but I had a firm grip on his legs and we didn't lose him off. 

"More gas now!" calls Ann as we hits the bottom. 

"Ouch! My tummy!" groans Barry. 

"Never mind, " says Ann. "Only three miles more. "

Say, it was the weirdest automobilin' I ever did, but Ann ran witheverything wide open and we sure were coverin' the distance. Once wepassed a big tourin' car full of young folks and as we went by theycaught sight of Barry, actin' as substitute gas tank, and they allturned to give him the haw-haw. 

"Probably they--they think I--I'm doing this on a bub-bet, " says Barry. "I--I wish I were. I--I'd pay. "

"Store ahead!" announces Ann. "Perhaps we can get some more gas. "

It was a good guess. We fills the can and starts on again, with lessthan two miles to go. I think Barry must have been a bit reckless withthat last quart for we hadn't gone more'n a mile before the enginebegins to choke and splutter. We were almost to the top of a hill, too. 

"Gas all gone, " says Barry, tryin' to climb back in. 

"Go back!" says Ann. "Take the funnel off and blow in the feed pipe. There! That's it. Keep on blowing. "

You couldn't beat Ann. The machine takes a fresh spurt, we makes the topof the hill, and halfway down the other side we sees Birch Crest. Hangedif we don't roll right up to the front door too, before the engine givesits last gasp, and Barry, covered with dust and red in the face, ishauled in. We're only half an hour late, at that. 

Course, the whole weddin' party is out there to see our swell finish. They'd been watchin' for us this last hour, wonderin' what had happened, and now they crowds around to ask Barry why he arrives hangin' over theback that way. And you should have heard 'em roar when they gets theexplanation. 

"See!" says Barry on the side to Ann. "I told you folks would laugh atme. "

"Poor boy!" says Miss McLeod, hookin' her arm into his. "Don't mind. Ithink you were perfectly splendid about it. "

"By Jove, though! Do you?" says he. "Would--would you risk another ridewith me, Ann? I know Adelbaran didn't show up very well but----"

"But your disposition did, " cuts in Ann. "And if you're going to insiston driving around the country in such a rattle-trap machine I--I thinkI'd better be with you--always. "

And say, I don't think I ever heard so much pep thrown into the weddin'march as when Barry Crane pumps it out that afternoon. He's wearin' abroad grin, too. 

Soon as I has a chance I whispers the news to Vee. "Really?" says she. "Isn't that fine! And I must say Barry is a lucky chap. "

"Well, he's some whizz himself, " says I. "Bound to be or else hecouldn't run a car a mile and a half just on his breath. "

CHAPTER XIV

SUBBING FOR THE BOSS

How's that? Has something happened to me? Course there has. Somethinggenerally does, and if I ever get to the point where it don't I hope Ishall have pep enough left to use the self-starter. Uh-huh. That's theway I give the hail to a new day--grinnin' and curious. 

Now some folks I know of works it just opposite, and they may be right, too. Mr. Piddie, our office manager, for instance. He's always afraidsomething will happen to him. I've heard him talk about it enough. Notjust accidents that might leave him an ambulance case, or worse, butanything that don't come in his reg'lar routine; little things, likeforgettin' his commutation ticket, or gettin' lost in Brooklyn, orhavin' his new straw lid blow under a truck and walkin' bareheaded a fewblocks. Say, I'll bet he won't like it in Heaven if he can't punch atime card every mornin', or if they shift him around much to differentharp sections. 

While me, I ain't worryin' what tomorrow will be like if it's only somedifferent from yesterday. And generally it is. Take this last littlewhirl of mine. I'll admit it leaves me a bit dizzy in the head, likeI'd been side-swiped by a passing event. Also my pride had had a bumpwhen I didn't know I had such a thing. Maybe that's why I look so dazed. 

What led up to it all was a little squint into the past that me and OldHickory indulged in here a week or so back. I'd been openin' the mornin'mail, speedy and casual as a first-class private sec. Ought to do, andsortin' it into the baskets, when I runs across this note which shouldhave been marked "Personal. " I'd only glanced at the "Dear old pal"start and the "Yours to a finish, Bonnie, " endin' when I lugs it intothe private office. 

"I expect this must have been meant for Mr. Robert; eh, Mr. Ellins?"says I, handin' it over. 

It's written sort of scrawly and foreign on swell stationery and OldHickory don't get many of that kind, as you can guess. He reads it clearthrough, though, without even a grunt. Then he waves me into a chair. 

"As it happens, Torchy, " says he, "this was meant for no one but me. "

"My error, " says I. "I didn't read it, though. "

He don't seem to take much notice of that statement, just sits theregazin' vacant at the wall and fingerin' his cigar. After a minute or soof this he remarks, sort of to himself: "Bonnie, eh? Well, well!"

I might have smiled. Probably I did, for the last person in the worldyou'd look for anything like mushy sentiments from would be Old HickoryEllins. Couldn't have been much more than a flicker of a smile at that. But them keen old eyes of his don't miss much that's going on, even whenhe seems to be in a trance. He turns quick and gives me one of themquizzin' stares. 

"Funny, isn't it, son, " says he, "that I should still be called Dear OldPal by the most fascinating woman in the world?"

"Oh, I don't know, " says I, tryin' to pull the diplomatic stuff. 

"You young rascal!" says he. "Think I'm no judge, eh? Here! Wait amoment. Now let's see. Um-m-m-m!"

He's pullin' out first one desk drawer and then another. Finally he digsout a faded leather photograph case and opens it. 

"There!" he goes on. "That's Bonnie Sutton. What about her?"

Course, her hair is done kind of odd and old-fashioned, piled up on topof her head that way, with a curl or two behind one ear; and I expect ifmuch of her costume had showed it would have looked old-fashioned, too. But there wasn't much to show, for it's only a bust view and cut offabout where the dress begins. Besides, she's leanin' forward on herelbows. A fairly plump party, I should judge, with substantial, well-rounded shoulders and kind of a big face. Something of a cut-up, too, I should say, for she holds her head a little on one side, her chinpropped in the palm of the left hand, while between the fingers of theright she's holdin' a cigarette. What struck me most, though, was thefolksy look in them wide-open eyes of hers. If it hadn't been for that Imight have sized her up for a lady vamp. 

"Good deal of a stunner, I should say, Mr. Ellins, " says I; "and no halfportion, at that. "

"Of queenly stature, as the society reporters used to put it, " says OldHickory. "She had her court, too, even if some of the sessions wererather lively ones. "

At that he trails off into what passes with him as a chuckle and I waitspatient while he does a mental review of old stuff. I could guess nearenough how some of them scenes would show up: the bunch gatherin' in oneof the little banquet rooms upstairs at Del's. , and Bonnie surroundedthree deep by admirin' males, perhaps kiddin' Ward McAllister over oneshoulder and Freddie Gebhard whisperin' over the other; or afterattendin' one of Patti's farewell concerts there would be a beefsteakand champagne supper somewhere uptown--above Twenty-third Street--andsome wild sport would pull that act of drinking Bonnie's health out ofher slipper. You know? And I expect they printed her picture on thefront page of the "Clipper" when she broke into private theatricals. 

"And she's still on deck?" I suggests. 

Old Hickory nods. He goes on to say how the last he heard of her she'dmarried some rich South American that she'd met in Washington and goneoff to live in Brazil, or the Argentine. That had been quite a spellback, I take it. He didn't say just how long ago. Anyway, she'd droppedout for good, he'd supposed. 

"And now, " says he, "she has returned, a widow, to settle on the oldfarm, up somewhere near Cooperstown. It appears, however, that she findsit rather dull. I can't fancy Bonnie on a farm somehow. Anyway, she hashalf a mind, she says, to try New York once more before she finallydecides. Wants to see some of the old places again. And by the greatcats, she shall! No matter what my fool doctors say, Torchy, I mean totake a night or two off when she comes. If Bonnie can stand it I guess Ican, too. "

"Yes, sir, " says I, grinnin' sympathetic. 

Well, that was 1:15 a. M. And at exactly 2:30 he limps out with his handto his right side and his face the color of cigar ashes. He's in foranother spell. I gets his heart specialist on the 'phone and loads Mr. Ellins into a taxi. Just before closin' time he calls up from the houseto say that he's off to the sanitarium for another treatment and may begone a couple of weeks. I must tell Mr. Robert about those options, have him sub. In at the next directors' meetin', and do a lot of oddjobs that he'd left unfinished. 

"And by the way, Torchy, " he winds up, "about Bonnie. "

"Oh, yes, " says I. "The lady fascinator. "

"If she should show up while I am away, " says Old Hickory, "don't--don'tbother to tell her I'm a sick old man. Just say I--I've been called outof town, or something. "

"I get you, " says I. "Business trip. "

"She'll be disappointed, I suppose, " goes on Mr. Ellins. "No one to takeher around town. That is, unless--By George, Torchy!--You must take myplace. "

"Eh?" says I, gaspy. 

"Yes, " says he. "You lucky young rascal! You shall be the one to welcomeBonnie back to New York. And do it right, son. Draw on Mr. Piddie forany amount you may need. Nothing but the best for Bonnie. Youunderstand. That is, if she comes before I get back. "

Say, I've had some odd assignments from Old Hickory, but never one justlike this before. Some contract that, to take an ex-home wrecker in towand give her the kind of a good time that was popular in the days ofBerry Wall. If I could only dig up some old sport with a good memory hemight coach me so that I might make a stab at it, but I didn't knowwhere to find one. And for three days there I made nervous motionsevery time Vincent came in off the gate with a card. 

But a week went by and no Bonnie blew in from up state. Maybe she'drenigged on the proposition, or had hunted up some other friend of theold days. Anyway, I'd got my nerves soothed down considerable and wasalmost countin' the incident as closed, when here the other day as Idrifts back from lunch Vincent holds me up. 

"Lady to see Mr. Ellins, " says he. "She's in the private office. "

"Sad words, Vincent, " says I. "Don't tell me it's Bonnie. "

"Nothing like that, " says he. "Here's her name, " and he hands me ablack-bordered card. 

"Huh!" says I, taking a glance. "Señora Concita Maria y Polanio. All ofthat, eh? Must be some whale of a female?"

"Whale is near it, " says Vincent. "You ought to see her. "

"The worst of it is, " says I, "I gotta see her. "

He's no exaggerator, Vincent. This female party that I finds bulgin' OldHickory's swing desk chair has got any Jonah fish I ever saw picturedout lookin' like a pickerel. I don't mean she's any side-show freak. Notas bad as that. But for her height, which is about medium, I should say, she sure is bulky. The way she sits there with her skirts spreadin'wide around her feet, she has all the graceful outlines of a human watertower. Above the wide shoulders is a big, high-colored face, andwabblin' kind of unsteady on top of her head is a black velvet hat withjet decorations. You remember them pictures we used to see of the lateQueen Victoria? Well, the Señora is an enlarged edition. 

I was wonderin' how long since she came up from Cuba, and if I'd need aSpanish interpreter to find out why she thinks she has to call on thepresident of the Corrugated Trust, when she rolls them big dark eyes ofhers my way and remarks, in perfectly good United States: "Ah! A ray ofsunshine!"

It comes out so unexpected that for a second or so I just gawps at her, and then I asks: "Referrin' to my hair?"

"Forgive me, young man, " says she. "But it is such a cheerful shade. "

"Yes'm, " says I. "So I've been told. Some call it fire-hydrant red, butI claim it's only super-pink. "

"Anyway, I like it very much, " says she. "I hope they don't call youReddy, though?"

"No, ma'am, " says I. "Torchy. "

"Why, how clever!" says she. "May I call you that, too? And I supposeyou are one of Mr. Ellins' assistants?"

"His private secretary, " says I. "So you can see what luck he's playin'in. Did you want to talk to him 'special, or is it anything I can fix upfor you?"

"It's rather personal, I'm afraid, " says she. "The boy at the doorinsisted that Mr. Ellins wasn't in, but I told him I didn't mindwaiting. "

"That's nice, " says I. "He'll be back in a week or so. "

"Oh!" says she. "Then he went away before my note came?"

Which was where I begun to work up a hunch. Course, it's only a wildsuspicion at first. She don't fit the description at all. Still, if sheshould be the one--I could feel the panicky shivers chasin' up and downmy backbone just at the thought. I expect my voice wavered a little as Iput the question. 

"Say, " says I, "you don't happen to be Bonnie Sutton, do you?"

That got a laugh out of her. It's no throaty, old-hen cackle, either. It's clear and trilly. 

"Thank you, Torchy, " says she. "You've guessed it. But please tell mehow?"

"Why, " says I, draggy, "I--er--you see----" And then I'm struck withthis foolish idea. Honest, I couldn't help pullin' it. "Mr. Ellins, " Igoes on, "happened to show me your picture. "

"What!" says she. "My picture? I--I can hardly believe it. "

"Wait, " says I. "It's right here in the drawer. That is, it was. Yep!This one. There!"

And say, as I flashed that old photo on her I didn't have the nerve towatch her face. You get me, don't you? If you'd changed as much as shehad how would you like to be stacked up sudden against a view of whatyou was once? So I looked the other way. Must have been a minute or morebefore I glanced around again. She was still starin' at the picture andbrushin' something off her eyelashes. 

"Torchy, " says she, "I could almost hug you for that. What a reallytalented young liar you are! And how thoroughly delightful of you to doit!"

"Oh, I don't know, " says I. "Anyway, it's the picture he showed me whenhe was tellin' about you. "

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind, Torchy, " she goes on, "telling me just whathe said. "

"Why, for one thing, " says I, "he let out that you was the mostfascinatin' woman in the world. "

Another ripply laugh from Bonnie. "The old dear!" says she. "But then, he always was a little silly about me. Think of his never having gottenover it in all these years, though! But he didn't stay to meet me. Howwas that?"

I hope I made it convincin' about his being called before a SenateCommittee and how he was hoping to get back before she showed up. I toldit as well as I could with them wise friendly eyes watchin' me. 

"Perhaps, after all, " says she, "it's just as well. If I had known hehad this photo I never would have risked coming. Now that I'm here, however, I wish there was someone who----"

"Oh, he fixed that up, " says I. "I'm the substitute. "

"You!" says she. Then she shakes her head. "You're a dear boy, " she goeson, "but I couldn't ask it of you. Really!"

"Sure you can, " says I. "You want to see what the old town looks like, have a little dinner in one of the old joints, and maybe make a littleround of the bright spots afterwards. Well, I got it all planned out. Course, I can't do it just the way Mr. Ellins would but----"

"Listen, Torchy, " she breaks in. "I regret to admit the fact, but I am afat, shapeless, freaky-looking old woman. Ordinarily that doesn't worryme in the least. After fifteen years in the tropics one doesn't worryabout how one looks. It has been a long time since I've given it athought. But now--Well, it's different. Seeing that picture. No, I can'task it of you. "

"Mr. Ellins will ask me, though, when he gets back, " says I. "Besides, Idon't mind. Maybe you are a little overweight, but I'm beginnin' tosuspect you're a reg'lar person, after all; and if I can qualify as aguide----"

Say, don't let on to Vee, but that's where I got hugged. It seems Bonniedoes want to have one glimpse of New York with the lights on; wants itthe worst way. For when she'd come up from Rio her one idea was to getback to the old farm, fix it up regardless of expense, and camp downthere quiet for the rest of her days. She'd had a bully time doin' it, too, for three or four months. She'd enjoyed havin' people around herwho could talk English, and watchin' the white clouds sail over thegreen hills, and seein' her cattle and sheep browsin' about the fields. It had rested her eyes and her soul. 

And then, all of a sudden, she had this hunch that maybe she was missin'something. Not that she thought she could come back reg'lar, or breakinto the old life where she left off. She says she wasn't so foolish inthe head as all that. Her notion was that she might be happier and morecontented if she just looked on from the side-lines. 

"I wanted to hear music, " says she, "and see the lights, and watch gayand beautiful young people doing the things I used to do. Itmight--Well, it might shake off some of my years. Who knows?"

"Sure! That's the dope, " says I. "Course, a lot of their old-time jointsain't runnin' now--Koster & Bial's, Harrigan's, the Café Martin butmaybe some you remember are still open. "

"Silly!" says she, shakin' a pudgy forefinger at me. "That isn't what Iwant at all. Not the old, but the new; the very newest and mostfashionable. I'm not trying to go back, but trying to keep up. "

"Oh!" says I. "In that case it'll be easy. How about startin' in withthe tea dance at the Admiral, just opened? Begins at 4:15. "

"Tell me, Torchy, " says she, "did you ever see anyone as--as huge as Iam at a tea dance? No, I think we'll not start with that. "

"Then suppose we hop off with dinner on the Plutoria roof?" I suggests. "The Tortonis are doing a dancin' turn there and they have the swellestjazz band in town. "

"It sounds exciting, " says Bonnie. "I will try to be ready by 7:30. Andyou surely are a nice boy. Now if you will help me out to theelevator----"

And it's while I'm tryin' to steady her on one side as she goes rollin'waddly through the main office that I gets a little hint of what'scomin' to me. Maybe you've seen a tug-boat bobbin' alongside a big linerin a heavy sea. I expect we must have looked something like that. Evenso, that flossy bunch of lady typists showed poor taste in cuttin' loosewith the smothered snickers as we wobbles past. 

And I could get a picture of myself towin' the Señora Concita MariaWhat's-Her-Name, alias Bonnie Sutton, through the Plutoria corridors. What if her feet should skid and after ten or a dozen bell hops hadboosted her up again they should find me underneath? Still I was in forit. No scoutin' around for back-number restaurants, as I'd planned atfirst. No, Bonnie had asked to be brought up-to-date. So she should, too. But I did wish she'd come to town in something besides that lateQueen Victoria costume. 

Yet I maps out the evenin' as if I had a date with Peggy Hopkins orHazel Dawn. At 5:30 I'm slippin' a ten-spot into the unwillin' palm of aPlutoria head waiter to cinch a table for two next to the dancin'surface, and from there I drops into a cigar store where I pays twoprices for a couple of end seats at the Midnight Follies. Then I slicksup a bit at a Turkish bath and at 7:25 I'm waitin' with the biggest taxiI can find in front of Bonnie's hotel. 

I expect I must have let out a sigh of relief when she shows up and Inotice that she's shed the unsteady velvet lid. It's some creation she'sswapped it for, a pink satin affair with a wing spread of about threefeet, but I must admit it kind of sets off that big face of hers and thegrayish hair. 

That's nothing to the jolt I gets, though, after she's been loaded intothe cab and the fur-trimmed opera cape slips back a bit. Say, take itfrom me, Bonnie has bloomed out. She must have speeded up some FifthAvenue modiste's establishment to the limit, but she's turned the trick, I'll say. Uh-huh! Not only the latest model evening gown, but she's hadher hair done up spiffy, and she's got on a set of jewels that wouldmake a pawnbroker's bride turn green. 

"Z-z-zing!" says I, catchin' my breath. "Excuse me, but I didn't knowyou were going to dress the part. "

"You didn't think I could, did you, Torchy?" says she. "Well, I haven'tquite forgotten, you see. "

So all them gloomy thoughts I'd indulged in was so much useless worry, as is usually the case. I'll admit we was some conspicuous durin' theevenin', with folks stretchin' their necks our way, but I didn't hearany snickers. They gazed at Bonnie sort of awed and impressed, liketourists starin' at the Woolworth Buildin' when it's lighted up. 

Some classy dinner that was we had, even if I did order it myself, withonly two waiters to coach me. I couldn't say exactly what it was we hadfor nourishment, only I know it was all tasty and expensive. Youwouldn't expect me to pick out the cheap things for a lady plutess fromBrazil, would you? So we dallies with Canaps Barbizon, Portage de laReine, breasts of milk-fed pheasants, and such trifles as that. Bonniesays it's all good. But she can't seem to get used to the band brayin'out impetuous just as she's about to take another bite of something. 

"Tell me, " says she, "is that supposed to be music?"

"Not at all, " says I. "That's jazz. We've got so we can't eat withoutit, you know. "

Also I suspect the Tortonis' dancin' act jarred her a bit. You've seen'em do the shimmy-plus?

"Well!" says she, drawin' in a long breath and lookin' the other way. "So that is an example of modern dancing, is it?"

"It's the kind of stunt the tired business man has to have before hegets bright in the eyes again, " says I. "But wait until we get to theFollies if you want to see him really begin to live. "

We had to kill a couple of hours between times so we took in the lasthalf of the latest bedroom farce and I think that got a rise or two outof Bonnie. I gathered from her remarks that Lillian Russell or EdnaWallace Hopper never went quite that far in her day. 

"It's pajamas or nothing now, " says I. 

"And occasionally, " she adds, "I suppose it is--Well, I trust not, atleast. "

After the Follies she hadn't a word to say. Only, as I landed her backat her hotel, along about 2:30 a. M. , she slumps into a big chair in theEgyptian room and lets her chin sag. 

"It's no use, Torchy, " says she. "I--I couldn't. "

"Eh?" says I. 

"End my days to jazz time, " says she. "No. I shall go back to my quiethills and my calm-eyed Holsteins. And I shall go entirely contented. Ican't tell you either, how thankful I am that it was you who showed memy mistake instead of my dear old friend. You've been so good about it, too. "

"Me?" says I. "Why, I've had a big night. Honest. "

"Bless you!" says she, pattin' my hand. "And just one thing more, Torchy. When you tell Mr. Ellins that I've been here, and gone, couldn'tyou somehow forget to say just how I looked? You see, if he remembers meas I was when that photo was taken--Well, where's the harm?"

"Trust me, " says I. "And I won't be strainin' my conscience any atthat. "

But I didn't need to juggle even a word. When Old Hickory hears how I'vesubbed in for him with Bonnie he just pulls out the picture, gazes at itfond for a minute or so, and then remarks:

"Ah, you lucky young rascal!" Then he picks up a note from his desk. "Oh, by the way, " he goes on, "here's a little remembrance she sent youin my care. "

Little! Say, what do you guess? Oh, only an order for a 1920 modelroadster with white wire wheels to be delivered to me when I calls forit! She's merely tipped me an automobile, that's all. And after I'd readit through for the third time, and was sure it was so, I manages to gaspout:

"Lucky is right, Mr. Ellins; that's the only word. "

CHAPTER XV

A LATE HUNCH FOR LESTER

You might not guess it, but every now and then I connect with some truethought that makes me wiser above the ears. Honest, I do. Sometimes theyjust come to me by accident, on the fly, as it were. And then again, they don't come so easy. 

Take this latest hunch of mine. I know now that my being a high-gradeprivate sec. Don't qualify me to hand out any fatherly advice to thefemale sex. Absolutely it doesn't. And yet, here only a few weeks back, that was just what I was doin'. Oh, I don't mean I was scatterin' itaround broadcast. It had to be a particular and 'special case to temptme to crash in with the Solomon stuff. It was the case of LesterBiggs--and little Miss Joyce. 

Now you'd almost think I'd seen too many lady typists earnin' theirdaily bread and their weekly marcelle waves for me to get stirred upover anything they might do. And as a rule, I don't waste much thoughton 'em unless they develop the habit of parkin' their gum on the cornerof my desk, or some such trick as that. I sure would be busy if I didmore, for here in the Corrugated general offices we have fifteen ortwenty more or less expert key pounders most of the time. Besides, it'sMr. Piddie's job to worry over 'em, and believe me he does it thorough. 

But somehow this little Miss Joyce party was different. I expect it wasthe baby blue tam-o'-shanter that got me noticin' her first off. Youknow that style of lid ain't worn a great deal by our Broadway stenogs. Not the home crocheted kind. Hardly. I should judge that most of ourflossy bunch wouldn't be satisfied until they'd swapped two weeks'salary for some Paris model up at Mme. Violette's. And how they didsnicker when Miss Joyce first reported for duty wearin' that tam andcostumed tacky in something a cross-roads dressmaker had done her worston. 

Miss Joyce didn't seem to mind. By rights she should have been a shy, modest little thing who would have been so cut up that she'd have rushedinto the cloak room and spilled a quart of salt tears. But she nevereven quivers one of her long eyelashes, so Piddie reports. She justcomes back at 'em with a sketchy, friendly little smile and proceeds totackle her work business-like. And inside of ten days she has the lot of'em eatin' out of her hand. 

But while I might feel a little sympathetic toward this stray from thekerosene circuit I didn't let it go so far but what I kicked like asteer when I finds that Piddle has wished her on me for a big forenoon'swork. 

"What's the idea, Piddie?" says I. "Why do I get one of your awkwardsquad who'll probably spell 'such' with a t in it and punctuate by thehit-or-miss method?"

"Miss Joyce?" says he, raisin' his eyebrows, pained. "I beg your pardon, Torchy, but she is one of our most efficient stenographers. Really!"

"She don't look the part, " says I. "But if you say she is I'll take achance. "

Well, she was all he'd described. She could not only scribble down thatPitman stuff as fast as I could feed the dictation to her, but she couldread it straight afterward and the letters she turns out are a joy tolook over. From then on I picks her to do all my work, being careful notto let either Mr. Robert or Old Hickory know what an expert I'vediscovered in disguise. 

For one thing she's such a quiet, inoffensive little party. She don'tcome in all scented with Peau d'Espagne, nor she don't stare at youbored, or pat her hair or polish her nails while you're waitin' to thinkof the right word. She don't seem to demand the usual chat or fish foran openin' to confide what a swell time she had last night. In fact, shedon't make any remarks at all outside of the job in hand, which is somerelief when you're scratchin' your head to think what to tell theassistant Western manager about renewin' them dockage contracts. 

Yet she ain't one of the scared-mouse kind. She looks you square in theeye when there's any call for it and she don't mumble her remarks whenshe has something to say. Not Miss Joyce. Her words come out clear andcrisp, with a slight roll to the r's and all the final letters sounded, like she'd been taking elocution or something. 

In the course of five or six weeks she has shed the blue tam for a neatlittle hat and has ditched the puckered seam effect dress for a blackoffice costume with white collar and cuffs. She still sticks to partin'her hair in the middle and drawin' it back smooth with no ear tabs orwaves to it. So she does look some old-fashioned. 

That was why I'm kind of surprised to notice this Lester Biggs beginhoverin' around her at lunch time and toward the closin' hour. She ain'tthe type Lester usually picks out to roll his eyes at. Not in the least. For of all them young hicks in the bond room I expect Lester is aboutthe most ambitious would-be sport we've got. 

You see, I've known Lester Biggs more or less for quite some time. Hestarted favorin' the Corrugated with his services back in the days whenI was still on the gate and rated myself the highest paid and easiestworked office boy between Greeley Square and Forty-second Street. Andall the good I ever discovered about him wouldn't take me long to tell. 

As for the other side of the case--Well, I ain't much on office scandal, but I will say that it always struck me Lester had the kind of a mindthat needed chloride of lime on it. I never saw the time when he wasn'tstretchin' his neck after some flossy typist or other, and as sure as anew one with the least hint of hair bleach showed up it would meananother affair for Lester. Maybe you know the kind. 

And he sure dressed the part, on and off. The Tin-Horn Sport Cut clothesthat you see advertised so wide must be made and designed 'special forLester. I remember he sprung the first pinch-back coat that came intothe office. Same way with the slit pockets, the belted vest and othercute little innovations that the Times Square chicken hounds drapethemselves in. 

I wouldn't quite say that he'd pass for the perfect male, either. Notunless you count the bat ears, face pimples, turkey neck and the cast inone eye as points of beauty. But that don't seem to bother Lester in theleast. He knows he has a way with him. His reg'lar openin' is "Hello, Girlie, what you got on the event card for tonight?" and from that tomakin' a date at Zinsheimer's dance hall is just a step. Oh, yes, Lesteris some gay bird, if you want to call it that. 

And all on twenty a week. So of course that interferes some with hisgreat ambition. He used to tell me about it back in the old days when Iwas on the gate and hadn't sized him up accurate. Chorus girls! If hecould only get to know some squab pippin from the Winter Garden or theFollies that would be all he'd ask. He would pick out his favorite fromthe new musical shows, lug around half-tone pictures of 'em cut fromnewspapers, and try to throw the bluff that he expected to meet 'emearly next week; but as we all knew he never got nearer than the secondbalcony he never got away with the stuff. 

"Suppose by some miracle you did, Lester?" I'd ask him. "What then?Would you blow her to a bowl of chow mein at some chop suey joint, orcould you get by with a nut sundae at a cut-rate drug store? And supposesome curb broker was waitin' to take her out to Heather Blossom Inn?You'd put up a hot competition, you would, with nothing but the changefrom a five left in your jeans. "

"Ah, just leave that to me, old son, " he'd say, winkin' devilish. 

And the one time when he did pull it off I happened to hear about. Afriend of his who was usher at the old Hippodrome offered to tow him toa little Sunday night supper at the flat of one of the chorus ladies. Lester went, too, and found a giddy thing of about forty fryin' onionsfor a fam'ly of five, includin' three half-grown kids and ascene-shiftin' hubby. 

That blow seems to discourage Lester for a week or so, since which hehas run true to form. He'll run around with lady typists, or girls fromthe cloak department, or most anything that wears skirts, until theydiscover what a tight-wad he is and give him the shunt. But his greataim in life is to acquire a lady-friend that he can point out in thesecond row and hang around for at the stage door about midnight. 

So when I sees him flutterin' about Miss Joyce, and her making motionslike she was fallin' for him, I didn't quite know what to make of it. Course, now that she's bucked up a bit on her costume she is more orless easy to look at. For a little thing, almost a half portion, as youmight put it, she has quite a figure, slim and graceful. And them pansybrown eyes can light up sort of fascinatin', I expect. And being sofresh from the country I suppose she can't dope out what a cheap shimmylizard Lester is. It's a wonder some of the other typists hadn't put herwise. They're usually good at that. But it looks like they'd missed atrick in her case, for one noon I overhears Lester datin' her up for anevenin' at Zinsheimer's. And when he drifts along I can't resistthrowin' out a hint, on my own account. 

"With Lester, eh?" says I, humpin' my eyebrows. 

"Oh, I know, " says Miss Joyce. "But I do love to dance and I--I've beenrather lonely, you see. "

I saw. And of course after that there was nothing more to say. Shedidn't tell me as much, but I understand that it got to be a regularthing. You could tell that by the intimate way Lester tips her the winkas he swaggers by. He didn't take any pains to hide it, or to lower hisvoice when he remarks, "Well, kiddo, see you at eight thirt. , eh?"

As long as she kept her work up to the mark, which she does, it wasn'tany funeral of mine. I never have yearned to be a volunteer chaperon. But I was kind of sorry for little Miss Joyce. I expect I said somethingof the kind to Vee, and she was all for having Mr. Piddie give her agood talking to. 

"No use, " says I. "Piddie wouldn't know how. All he can do is hire 'emand fire 'em, and even that's turnin' his hair gray. It'll all work outone way or another, I expect. "

It does, too. But not exactly along the lines I was looking for it todevelop. First off, Lester quits the Corrugated. As he'd been on thesame job for more'n six years, and gettin' worse at it right along, theblow didn't quite put us out of business. We're still staggerin' ahead. 

"What's the scheme, Lester?" says I. "Beatin' the office manager toit?"

"Huh!" says Lester. "I've been plannin' to make a shift for more'n ayear. Just waitin' for the right openin'. I got it now. "

"The Morgan people sent for you, did they?" says I. 

"They might have, at that, " says Lester, "only I'm through bein' anoffice slave for anybody. I'm goin' in with some live wires this time, where I'll have a chance. "

But it turns out that he's been taken on as a sidewalk man by a pair ofticket speculators--Izzy Goldman and his pal, who used to run the cigarstand down in the arcade. They handled any kind of pasteboards, fromgrandstand parade tickets to orchestra seats. 

"Yes, " says I, "that'll be a great career. Almost in the theatricalgame, eh? You'll be knowin' all the pippins now, I expect. "

"Watch me, " says Lester. 

Well, I didn't strain my eyes. I'd have been just as pleased to knowthat Lester was going to slip out of my young life forever and to forgethim complete within the next two days. Only I couldn't. There was MissJoyce to remind me. Not that she says a word. She ain't the chatty, confidential kind. But it was natural for me to wonder now and then ifthey was still as chummy as at the start. 

He'd been away a month or more I expect, before either of us passed hisname, and then it came out accidental. I starts dictatin' a letter to afirm in St. Louis, Lester & Riggs. The name sort of startles Miss Joyce. 

"I beg pardon?" says she, her pencil poised over the pad. 

"No, not Lester Biggs, " says I. "By the way, how is he these days?"

"I'm sure I don't know, " says she. "I--I haven't seen him for weeks. "

"Oh!" says I. "Kind of thought you'd be droppin' him down the coal shuteor something. "

She shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head. "It was he who droppedme, " says she. "Flat. "

"Considerin' Lester, " says I, "that's more or less of a compliment. "

"I am not so sure of that, " says Miss Joyce. "You see, he was quitefrank about it. He--he said I had no style or zipp about me. Well, I'mafraid it's true. "

"Even so, " says I, "it was sweet of him to throw it at you, wasn't it?"

She indulges in a sketchy, quizzin' smile. "I think some of the girls atZinsheimer's had been teasing him about me, " she goes on. "They calledme 'the poor little working girl, ' I believe. I've no doubt I looked it. But I haven't been able to spend much for clothes--as yet. "

"Of course, " says I, throwin' up a picture of an invalid mother and acoon-huntin' father back in the alfalfa somewhere. "And so far youain't missed much by not havin' 'em. I should put Lester's loss down onthe credit side if I was makin' the entry. "

"He could dance, though, " says Miss Joyce, as she gets busy with herpencil again. 

Then a few weeks later I was handed my big jolt. We was gettin' out aspecial report for the directors' meetin' one day after lunch when rightin the middle of a table of costs Miss Joyce glances anxious at theclock and drops her note book. 

"I'm so sorry, " says she, "but couldn't we finish this tomorrowmorning?"

"Why, I suppose we might, " says I, "if it's anything important. "

"It is, " says she. "If I'm not there by 3 o'clock the stage manager willnot see me at all, and I do so want to land an engagement this time. "

"Eh?" says I gawpin'. "Stage manager! You?"

"Why, yes, " says she. "You see, I tried once before. I was almost takenon, too. They liked my voice, they said, but I wasn't up on my dancing. So I've been taking lessons of a ballet master. Frightfully expensive. That's where all my money has gone. But I think they'll give me a chancethis time. It's for the chorus of that new 'Tut! Tut! Marie' thing, youknow, and they've advertised for fifty girls. "

I suppose I must have let loose a gasp. This meek, modest young thing, who looked like she wouldn't know a lip-stick from a boiled carrot, plannin' cold-blooded to throw up a nice respectable job and enterherself in the squab market! Why, I wouldn't have been jarred more ifPiddie had announced that next season he was going to do bareback ridin'for some circus. 

"Excuse me, Miss Joyce, " says I, "but I wouldn't say you was just thekind they'd take on. "

"Oh, they take all kinds, " says she. 

"Better brace yourself for a turndown, though, " says I, "I see it comingto you. You ain't the type at all. "

"Perhaps you don't know, " says she, trippin' off to get her hat. 

Ever see one of them mobs that turns out when there's a call for a newchorus? I've had to push my way through 'em once or twice up in some ofthem office buildings along the Rialto, and believe me, it's a weirdcollection; all sorts, from wispy little flappers who should be ingrammar school still, to hard-faced old battle axes who used to travelwith Nat Goodwin. So I couldn't figure little Miss Joyce gettin'anything more'n a passing glance in that aggregation. Yet when she showsup in the mornin' she's lookin' sort of smilin' and chirky. 

"Well, " said I, "did you back out after lookin' 'em over?"

"Oh, no, " says she. "I was tried out with the first lot and engagedright away. They're rushing the production, you see, and I happened tofit in. Why, inside of an hour they had twenty of us rehearsing. I'm tobe in the first big number, I think--one of the Moonbeam girls. Isn'tthat splendid?"

"If that's what you want, " says I, "I expect it is. But how about thefolks back home? What'll they say to this wide jump of yours?"

"I've decided not to tell them anything about it, " says she. "Not for along time, anyway. "

"They might hear, though, " I suggests. "Just where do you come from?"

"Why, Saskatoun, " says she, without battin' an eyelash. 

"Oh, all right, if you don't want to tell, " says I. 

"But I have told you, " says she. "Saskatoun. "

"Is it a new hair tonic, or what?" says I. 

"It's a city, " says she. "One of the largest in British Columbia. "

"Think of that!" says I. "They don't care how they mess up the map thesedays, do they? And your folks live there?"

"Most of them, " says she. "Two of my brothers are up at Glen Bow, raising sheep; one of my sisters is at Alberta, giving piano lessons;and another sister is doing church singing in Moose Jaw. If I had stayedat home I would be doing something like that. We are a musical family, you know. Daddy is a church organist and wanted me to keep on in thechoir and perhaps get to be a soloist, at $50 a month. But I couldn'tsee it. If I am going to make a living out of my music I want to make agood one. And New York is the place, isn't it!"

"It depends, " says I. "You don't think you'll get rich in the 'Tut! Tut!Marie' chorus, do you?"

"Perhaps they'll not keep me in the chorus, " says she. "It's the backdoor, I know, but it was the only way I could get in. And I'm going towork for something better. You'll see. "

Yep, I saw. Miss Joyce resigned at the end of the week, and it wasn'tten days before I gets a little note from her saying how she'd beenpicked out to do a specialty dance and duet with Ronald Breen. Mr. Breenhad done the picking himself. And she did hope I would look in somenight when the company opened on Broadway. 

"I expect we'll have to go; eh, Vee?" says I when I gets home. 

"Surely, " says Vee. 

Well, maybe you've noticed what a hit this "Tut! Tut!" thing has beenmaking. It's about the zippiest, peppiest girl show in town, and that'ssaying a lot. It's the kind of stuff that makes the tired business manget bright in the eyes and forget how near the sixteenth of January is. I thought first off we'd have to put off seeing it until afterChristmas, for when I finally got to the box office there was nothingdoing in orchestra seats. Sold out five weeks in advance. But by luck Ihappens to run across Lester Biggs in the lobby and for five a throw hefixes me up with two places in G, middle row. 

"It's a big winner, " says he. 

"Seen it yourself?" I asks. 

"Not yet, " says he. "Think I can pull it off tonight, though. "

"Good!" says I. "I'll be looking for you out front after the first act. "

And, say, when this party who's listed on the program as Jean Jollycomes boundin' in with Ronald Breen I'll admit she had me sittin' upwith my ears tinted pink. No use goin' into details about her costume. It's hardly worth while--a little white satin here and there and a touchof black tulle. 

"Well!" gasps Vee. "Is that your little Miss Joyce?"

"I can hardly believe it, " says I. 

"I should hope not, " says Vee. "But she is cute, isn't she? And see thatkick! Oh-h-h-h!"

I was still red in the face, I expect, when I trails out at the end ofthe act and discovers Lester leanin' against the lobby wall. 

"Say, Torchy, " says he husky, "did--did you see her?"

"Miss Joyce?" says I. "Sure. Some pippin in the act, isn't she? Didn'tshe send you word she was goin' to be in this with Ronald Breen?"

"Me?" says he. "No. "

"That's funny, " says I. "She told me weeks ago. I hear she's pullingdown an even hundred and fifty a week. By next season she'll bestarrin'. "

"And to think, " moans out Lester, "that I passed her up only a fewmonths ago!"

"Yes, " says I, "considerin' your chronic ambition, that was once whenyou were out of luck. And the worst of it is that maybe she was onlyusin' you to practice on all along. Eh?"

Perhaps it wasn't a consolin' thought to leave with Lester, but somehowI couldn't help grinnin' as I tossed it over. And me, I'm doping out nomore advice to young ladies from Saskatoun or elsewhere. I'm off thatside-line permanent. 

CHAPTER XVI

TORCHY TACKLES A MYSTERY

I'll admit I didn't get all stirred up when Mr. Robert comes in fromluncheon and announces that this Penrhyn Deems person is missing. 

"On how many cylinders?" says I. 

I might have added, too, that even if he'd been mislaid permanent Icould struggle along. First off, anybody with a name like that could beeasy spared. Penrhyn! Always reminded me of a headache tablet. Where didhe get such a fancy tag? I never could believe that was sprinkled onhim. Listened to me like something he'd thought up himself when he sawthe chance of its being used so much on four sheets and billboards. Andif you'd ask me I'd said that the prospect of his not contributin' anymore of them musical things to the Broadway stage wasn't good cause fordecreein' a lodge of sorrow. Them last two efforts of his certainly waspunk enough to excuse him from tryin' again. What if he had done thelines and lyrics to "The Buccaneer's Bride"? That didn't give him anylicense to unload bush-league stuff for the rest of his career, did it?Begun to look like his first big hit had been more or less of anaccident. That being the case maybe it was time for him to fade out. 

Course, I didn't favor Mr. Robert with all this. Him and Penrhyn Deemswas old college chums together, and while they ain't been real thick inlate years they have sort of kept in touch. I suspect that since Penrhyngot to ratin' himself as kind of a combination of Reggie DeKoven andGeorge Cohan he ain't been so easy to get along with. Maybe I'm wrong, but from the few times I've seen him blowin' in here at the Corrugatedthat was my dope. You know. One of these parties who carries his chestout and walks heavy on his heels. Yes, I should judge that the ego inPenrhyn's make-up would run well over 2. 75 per cent. 

But it takes more'n that to get him scratched from Mr. Robert's list. He's strong for keepin' up old friendships, Mr. Robert is. He rememberswhatever good points they have and lets it ride at that. So he's alwaysright there with the friendly hail whenever Penrhyn swaggers in wearin'them noisy costumes that he has such a weakness for, and with hiseyebrows touched up and his cutie-boy mustache effect decoratin' thatthick upper lip. How a fat party like him could work up so much personalesteem I never could understand. But they do. You watch next time you'reon a subway platform, who it is that gazes most fond into thegum-machine mirrors and if it ain't mostly these blimp-built boys witha 40 belt measure then I'm wrong on my statistics. Anyway, Penrhyn isthat kind. 

"This is the third day that he has been missing, Torchy, " says Mr. Robert, solemn. 

"Yes?" says I. "Seems to me I saw an item about him in the theatricalnotes yesterday, something about his being a. W. O. L. Kind of joshing, it read, like they didn't take it serious. "

"That's the disgusting part of it, " says Mr. Robert. "Here is a man whodisappears suddenly, to whom almost anything may have happened, frombeing run over by a truck to robbery and murder; yet, because he happensto be connected with the theatrical business, it is referred to as if itwere some kind of a joke. Why, he may be lying unidentified in somehospital, or at the bottom of the North River. "

"Anybody out looking for him?" I asks. 

"Not so far as I can discover, " says Mr. Robert. "I have 'phoned up tothe Shuman offices--they're putting on his new piece, you know--but Igot no satisfaction at all. He hadn't been there for several days. Thatwas all they knew. Yes, there had been talk of giving the case to adetective agency, but they weren't sure it had been done. And here ishis poor mother up in New Rochelle, almost on the verge of nervousprostration. There is his fiancée, too; little Betty Parsons, who iscrying her eyes out. Nice girl, Betty. And it's a shame that somethingisn't being done. Anyway, I shall do what I can. "

"Sure!" says I. "I hadn't thought about his having a mother--and a girl. But say, Mr. Robert, maybe I can put you next to somebody at Shuman'swho can give you the dope. I got a friend up there--Whitey Weeks. Usedto do reportin'. Last time I met him though, he admitted modest thatAlf. Shuman had come beggin' him to take full charge of the publicityend of all his attractions. So if anybody has had any late bulletinsabout Mr. Deems it's bound to be Whitey. "

"Suppose you ring him up, then, " says Mr. Robert. 

"When I'm trying to extract the truth from Whitey, " says I, "I want tobe where I can watch his eyes. He's all right in his way, but he's asshifty as a jumpin' bean. If you want the facts I'd better go myself. Maybe you'd better come, too, Mr. Robert. "

He agrees to that and inside of half an hour we've pushed through a mobof would-be and has-been chorus females and have squeezed into thelittle coop where Whitey presides important behind a big double-breastedroll-top. And when I explains how Mr. Robert is an old friend ofPenrhyn's, and is actin' for the heart-broken mother and the weepin'fiancée as well, Whitey shakes his head solemn. 

"Sorry, gentlemen, " says he, "but we haven't heard a word from himsince he disappeared. Haven't even a clue. It's an absolute mystery. Heseems to have vanished, that's all. And we don't know what to make ofit. Rather embarrassing for us, too. You know we've just startedrehearsals for his new piece, 'Oh, Say, Belinda!' Biggest thing he'sdone yet. And Mr. Shuman has spent nearly $10, 000 for the setting andcostumes of one number alone. Yet here Deems walks off with the lyricsfor that song--the only copy in existence, mind you--and drops out ofsight. I suppose he wanted to revise the verses. You see the hole it putus in, though. We're rushing 'Belinda' through for an early production, and he strays off with the words to what's bound to be the big song hitof the season. Why, Miss Ladue, who does that solo, is about crazy, andas for Mr. Shuman----"

"Yes, I understand, Whitey, " I breaks in. "That's good press agentstuff, all right. But Mr. Ellins here ain't so much worried over what'sgoing to happen to the show as he is over what has happened to PenrhynDeems. Now how did he disappear? Who saw him last?"

Whitey shrugs his shoulders. "All a mystery, I tell you, " says he. "Wehaven't a single clue. "

"And you're just sitting back wondering what has become of him, " demandsMr. Robert, "without making an effort to trace him?"

"Well, what can we do?" asks Whitey. "If the fool newspapers would onlywake up to the fact that a prominent personage is missing, and give usthe proper space, that might help. They will in time, of course. Got tocome to it. But you know how it is. Anything from a press bureau they'reapt to sniff over suspicious. As if I'd pull one as raw as this on 'em!Huh! But I'm working up the interest, and by next Sunday I'll betthey'll be carrying front page headlines, 'Where is Penrhyn Deems?'You'll see. "

"Suppose he should turn up tomorrow, though?" I asks. 

"Oh, but he couldn't, " says Whitey quick. "That is, if he's really lostor--or anything has happened to him. What makes you think he might showup, Torchy?"

"Just a hunch of mine, " says I. "I was thinking maybe some of hisfriends might find him somewhere. "

"I'd like to see 'em, " says Whitey emphatic. "It--it would be worth agood deal to us. "

"Yes, " says I, "I know how you feel about it. Much obliged, Whitey. Iguess that's all we can do; eh, Mr. Robert?"

But we're no sooner out of the office than I gives him the nudge. 

"Bunk!" says I. "I'd bet a million of somebody else's money that this isjust one of Whitey's smooth frame-ups. "

"I hardly think I follow you, " says Mr. Robert. 

"Here's the idea, " says I. "When 'The Buccaneer's Bride' was having thattwo-year run Penrhyn Deems was a good deal in the spotlight. He hadwrite-ups reg'lar, full pages in the Sunday editions, new pictures ofhimself printed every few weeks. He didn't hate it, did he? But theselast two pieces of his were frosts. All he's had recent have beenroasts, or no mention at all. And it was up to Whitey to bring him backinto the public eye, wasn't it? Trust Whitey for doing that. "

"But this method would be so thoroughly cold-blooded, heartless, "protests Mr. Robert. 

"Wouldn't stop Whitey, though, " says I. 

"Then we must do our best to find Penrhyn, " says he. 

"Sure!" says I. "Sleuth stuff. How about startin' at his rooms andinterviewin' his man?"

"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "We will go there at once. "

We did. But what we got out of that pie-faced Nimms of Penrhyn's wasn'tworth taking notes of. He's got a map about as full of expression as thesouth side of a squash, Nimms. A peanut-headed Cockney that Penrhynfound somewhere in London. 

"Sure I cawn't say, sir, " says he, "where the mawster went to, sir. Itwas lawst Monday night 'e vanished, sir. "

"Whaddye mean, vanished?" says I. 

"'E just walked out, sir, and never came back, " says Nimms. "See, sir, I've 'ad 'is morning suit all laid out ever since, sir. "

"Then he went in evening clothes?" puts in Mr. Robert. 

"Not exactly, sir, " says Nimms. "'E was attired as a court jester, sir;in motley, you know, sir, and cap and bells. "

"Wha-a-at?" says Mr. Robert. "In a fool's costume? You say he went outin that rig? Why the deuce should he----"

"I didn't ask the mawster, sir, " says Nimms, "but my private opinion ofthe matter, sir, is that he was on 'is way to a masked banquet of somesort. I 'appened to see a hinvitation, sir, that----"

"Dig it up, Nimms, " says I. "Might be a clue. "

Sure enough, Nimms had it stowed away; and the fathead hadn't said aword about it before. It's an invite to the annual costume dinner of theBright Lights Club. 

"Huh!" says I. "I've heard of that bunch--mostly producers, stage starsand dramatists. Branch of the Lambs Club. Whitey would have known aboutthat event, too. And Alf. Shuman. If Deems had been there they'd haveknown. So he didn't get there. I expect he wore a rain coat orsomething over his costume, and went in a taxi; eh, Nimms?"

"Quite so, sir, " says Nimms. "A long raincoat, sir. "

"But, " breaks in Mr. Robert, "a man couldn't wander around New Yorkdressed in a fool's costume without being noticed. That is, not forseveral days. "

"You bet he couldn't, " says I. "So he didn't. "

That's a good line to pull, that "he couldn't, so he didn't, " whenyou're doin' this Sherlock-Watson stuff. Sounds professional. Mr. Robertnods and then looks at me expectant as if he was waitin' to hear whatI'd deduce next. But as a matter of fact my deducer was runnin' down. Yet when you've got a boss who always expects you to cerebrate in highgear, as he's so fond of puttin' it, you've got to produce somethingoff-hand, or stall around. 

"Now, let's see, " says I, registerin' deep thought, "if Penrhyn was togo anywhere on his own hook, where would it be? You know his habitspretty well, Mr. Robert. What's your guess?"

"Why, I should say he would make for the nearest golf course, " says he. 

"He's a golf shark, is he?" says I. 

"Not in the sense you mean, " says Mr. Robert. "Hardly. Penrhyn is aconsistent but earnest duffer. The ambition of his life is to break 100on some decent course. He has talked enough about it to me. Yes, that isprobably where he is, if he's still alive, off playing golf somewhere. "

"Begging your pardon, sir, " puts in Nimms, "but that could 'ardly be so, sir, seeing as 'ow 'is sticks are still 'ere. That's the strange part of'is disappearance, sir. 'E never travels without 'is bag of sticks. Andthey're in that closet, sir. "

"Couldn't he rent an outfit, or borrow one?" I suggests. 

"He could, " says Mr. Robert, "but he wouldn't. No more than you wouldrent a toothbrush. That is one of the symptoms of the golf duffer. Hehas his pet clubs and imagines he can play with no others. I think wemust agree with Nimms. If we do, the case looks serious again, forPenrhyn would certainly not go away voluntarily unless it was to someplace where he could indulge in his mania. "

"That's it!" says I. "Then he's been steered somewhere against his will. That's the line! Which brings us back to Whitey Weeks. Who else butWhitey would want him shunted off out of sight for a week or so?"

"But you don't think he would go so far as to kidnap Penrhyn, do you?"asks Mr. Robert. 

"Who, Whitey?" says I. "He'd kidnap his grandmother if he saw a frontpage story in it. Maybe he'd had this disappearance stunt all worked upwhen Mr. Deems balked. So he gets him when he's rigged up in some crazycostume, with all his regular clothes at home, and tolls him off to someout of the way spot. See? In that rig Penrhyn would have to stay put, wouldn't he? Couldn't show himself among folks without being mobbed. Sohe'd have to lay low until someone brought him a suit of clothes. "

"That would be an ingenious way of doing it, " admits Mr. Robert. 

"Believe me, Whitey has that kind of a mind, " says I, "or else hewouldn't be handling the Alf. Shuman publicity work. "

"But where could he have taken him?" asks Mr. Robert. 

"We're just gettin' to that, " says I. "Where would he? Now if this was amovie play we was dopin' out it would be simple. He'd be taken off on ayacht. But Whitey couldn't get the use of a yacht. He don't travel inthat class, and Shuman wouldn't stand for the charter price in anexpense bill. A lonesome farm would be a good spot. But Penrhyn couldborrow a rube outfit and escape from a farm. A lighthouse would be aswell place to stow away a leading librettist dressed up in a fool'scostume, wouldn't it? Or an island? Say, I'll bet I've got it!"

"Eh?" says Mr. Robert. 

"He's on an island, " says I. "High Bar Island. It's a place whereWhitey goes duck shootin' every fall. He belongs to a club that owns it. Anyway, he did. Used to feed me an earful about what a great gunner hewas, and what thrillin' times he had at the old shack. Down somewhere inBarnegat Bay, back of the lighthouse. Yep! He's there, if he'sanywhere. "

"Sounds rather unlikely, " says Mr. Robert. "Still, you seem to have anuncanny instinct for being right in such matters. Perhaps we ought to godown and see. Come. "

"What, now?" says I. "Right away?"

"There is his mother, almost in hysterics, " says Mr. Robert, "and hissweetheart. Think of the suspense, the mental strain they must be under. If we can find Penrhyn we must do so as quickly as possible. Let's goback to the office and look up train connections. "

Well, if we'd started half an hour earlier we'd been all right. As itwas we could hang up all night at some dinky junction or wait over untilnext morning. Neither suited Mr. Robert. He 'phones for his tourin' carand decides to motor down into Jersey. Also he has a kit bag packed fortwo of us and collects from Nimms a full outfit of daylight clothes forPenryhn. 

We got away about five o'clock and as Mr. Robert figures by the BlueBook that we have only a hundred and some odd miles to run he thinks weought to make some place near Barnegat Light by nine o'clock. Maybe wewould have, too, if we'd caught the Staten Island ferries right at bothends, and hadn't had two blow-outs and strayed off the road once. As itis we finally lands at little joint that shows on the map as ForkedRiver about 1 a. M. There wasn't a light in the whole place and it tookus half an hour to pry the landlord of the hotel out of the feathers. No, he couldn't tell us where we could get a boat to take us out to HighBar at that time of night. It wasn't being done. Folks didn't go thereoften anyway, and when they did they started after breakfast. 

"It'll be there in the morning, you know, " says he. 

"That's so, " says Mr. Robert. "Have a motor boat ready at nine o'clock. Not much use getting there before 10:30. Penrhyn wouldn't be up. "

That sounded sensible to me. When I go huntin' for lost dramatists Ilike to take it easy and be braced up for the day with a good shot ofham and eggs. This part of the program was carried out smooth. And it'sa nice little sail across old Barnegat Bay with the oyster fleet busyand the fishin' boats dotted around. But the native who piloted us outwas doubtful about anybody's being on High Bar. 

"I seen some parties shootin' around on Love Ladies yesterday, " says he, "an' a couple more was snipin' on Sea Dog, but I didn't hear nary gunlet off on th' Bar. "

"Oh, my friend doesn't shoot, anyway, " says Mr. Robert. 

"Ain't nothin' else for him to do on High Bar, " says the native, "less'nhe wants to collect skeeter bites. "

When we got close enough to see the island I begun to suspicion I'dmissed out on my hunch, for there ain't a soul in sight. We could seethe whole of it, too, for the highest part isn't much over two feetabove tide-water mark. Near the boat landing is the club house, set upon piling, with a veranda across the front. The rest of High Bar is onlya few acres of sedge and marsh. 

"Yea-uh!" says the native. "Must be somebody thar. Door's open. Yea-uh!Thar's old Lem Robbins, who allus does the cookin'. Hey, Lem!"

Lem waves cordial and waddles down to meet us. He's a fat, grizzled oldpirate who looked bored and discontented. 

"Got anybody with you, Lem?" asks the native. 

"Not to speak of, " says Lem. "Only a loony sort of gent that wearsskin-tight barber-pole pants and cusses fluent. "

"That's Penrhyn!" says Mr. Robert. "Dressed as a fool, isn't he?"

"You've said it, " says Lem. "Acts like one, too. Hope you gents havecome to take him back where he belongs. Needs to be shut up, he does. "

"But where is he?" demands Mr. Robert. 

"Out back of the house, swingin' an old boat-hook and carryin' onsimple, " says Lem. "I'll show you. "

It was some sight, too. For there is the famous author of "TheBuccaneer's Bride, " rigged out complete in a more or less soiledjester's costume, includin' the turkey red headpiece with the bells onit. He's standing on a heap of shells and waving this rusty boat-hookaround. Course, I expects when he sees Mr. Robert and realizes how he'sbeen rescued he'll come out of his spell and begin to act rational oncemore. But it don't work out that way. When Mr. Robert calls out to himand he sees who it is, he keeps right on swingin' the boat-hook. 

"Glory be, Bob!" he sings out. "I've got it at last. "

"Got what, Penny?" demands Mr. Robert. 

"My drive, " says he. "Watch, Bob. How's that, eh? Notice that carrythrough? Wouldn't that spank the pill 200 yards straight down thefairway? Wouldn't it, now?"

"Oh, I say, Penny!" says Mr. Robert. "Don't be more of an ass than youcan help. Quit that golf tommyrot and tell me what you're doing here inthis forsaken spot when all New York is thinking that maybe you've beenmurdered or something. "

"Eh?" says Penrhyn. "Then--then the news is out, is it? Did you bringany papers?"

"Papers?" says Mr. Robert. "No. "

"Wish you had, " says Penrhyn. "Got everyone stirred up, I suppose? Tellme, though, how are people taking it?"

"If you mean the public in general, " says Mr. Robert, "I think they arebearing up nobly. But your mother and Betty----"

"By George!" breaks in Penrhyn. "That's so! They might be ratherdisturbed. I--I never thought about them. "

"Didn't, eh?" says Mr. Robert. "No, you wouldn't. You were thinkingabout Penrhyn Deems, as usual. And I must say, Penny, you're the limit. I've a good notion to leave you here. "

"No, no, Bob! Don't do that, " pleads Penrhyn. "Disgusting place. And Idislike that cook person, very much. Besides, I must get back. Really. "

"Want to relieve your poor old mother and Betty, eh?" asks Mr. Robert. 

"Yes, of course, " says Penrhyn. "Besides, I want to try this swing withmy driver. Bob, I'm sure I can put in that wrist snap at last. And if Ican I--I'll be playing in the 90's. Sure!"

He's a wonder, Penrhyn. He has this hoof and mouth disease, otherwiseknown as golf, worse than anybody I ever met before. Took Mr. Robertanother ten minutes to get him calmed down enough so he could tell howhe come to be marooned on this island in that rig. 

"Why, it was that new press agent of Shuman's, of course, " says Penrhyn. "That Weeks person. He did it. "

"You don't mean to say, Penny, " says Mr. Robert, "that you werekidnapped and brought here a prisoner?"

"Not at all, " says Penny. "We drove down here at night and came in aboat just at daylight. Silly performance. Especially wearing thiscostume. But he insisted that it would make the disappearance moreplausible, more dramatic. Wouldn't tell me where we were going, either. Said it was a club house, so I thought of course there would be golf. But look at this hole! And I've had four days of it. Mosquitoes?Something frightful. That's why I've kept on the cap and bells. At firstI put in the time working over one of the songs in the new piece. Wrotesome ripping verses, too. They'll go strong. Best thing I've done. Butafter I had finished that job I wanted to play golf; practice, anyway. And I was nearly crazy until I found this old boat-hook and beganknocking oyster shells into the water. That's how it came to me--thedrive. If I can only hold it!"

I suggests how Mr. Weeks is probably plannin' for him to stay lost untilover Sunday anyway, so he can work some big space in the newspapers. 

"Oh, bother Mr. Weeks!" says Penrhyn. "I've had enough of this. The newpiece is going to go big, anyway. Come along, Bob. Let's start. I'll'phone to mother and Betty, and maybe I can get in eighteen holes thisafternoon. Brought some clothes for me, didn't you? I must change fromthis rig first. "

"I wouldn't, " says Mr. Robert. "It's quite appropriate, Penny. "

But Penrhyn wouldn't be joshed and makes a dive for his suitcase. Welands him back on Broadway at 4:30 that same afternoon. My first moveafter gettin' to the Corrugated general offices is to ring up WhiteyWeeks. 

"This is Torchy, " says I. "And ain't it awful about Penrhyn Deems?"

"Eh?" gasps Whitey. "What about him?"

"He's been found, " says I. "Uh-huh! Discovered on an island by some foolfriends that brought him back to town. I just saw him on Broadway. "

"The simp!" groans Whitey. 

"You're a great little describer, Whitey, " says I. "Simp is right. Butnext time you want to win front page space by losing a dramatist I'dadvise you to lock him in a vault. Islands are too easy located. "

CHAPTER XVII

WITH VINCENT AT THE TURN

It was Mr. Piddie who first begun workin' up suspicions about Vincent, our fair haired super-office boy. But then, Piddie has that kind of amind. He must have been born on the dark of the moon when the wind waseast in the year of the big eclipse. Something like that. Anyway, he'slong on gloom and short on faith in human nature, and he goesgum-shoein' through life lookin' as slit-eyed as a tourist tom-cat fourblocks from his own backyard. 

Course, he has his good points, lots of 'em, or else he never would haveheld his job as office manager in the Corrugated Trust so long. Andthere's at least two human beings he thinks was made perfect from thestart--Old Hickory Ellins and Mr. Robert. The rest of us he ain't sureof. We'll bear watchin'. And Piddie's idea of earnin' his salary is tobe right there with the restless eye from 8:43 until 5:02, when he grabshis trusty commutation ticket and starts for the wilds of Jersey, leavin' the force to a whole night of idleness and wicked ways. 

Still, I am a little surprised when he picks out Vincent. 

"I regret to say it, Torchy, " says he, "but someone ought to have an eyeon that boy. "

"Oh, come, Piddie!" says I. "Not Vincent! Why, he's a model youth. You've always said so yourself--polite, respectful, washes behind theears, takes home his pay envelope uncracked to mother, all that sort ofthing. Why the mournful headshake over him now?"

"I can't say what it is, " says Piddie, "but there has been a change. Recently. Twice this week he has overstayed his luncheon hour. Yesterdayhe asked for his Liberty bond and war saving stamps from the safe. Ibelieve he is planning to do something desperate. "

"Huh!" says I. "Most likely he's plotting to pay off the mortgage on thelittle bungalow as a birthday present for mother. "

Piddie won't have it that way, though. "I think there's a woman in thecase, " says he, "and I'm sure it isn't his mother. "

"A woman; Vincent?" says I. "Ah, quit your kiddin', Piddie. I'd as soonthink it of you. "

That brings the pink to his ears and he stiffens indignant. But in aminute or so he gets over it enough to explain that he's noticed Vincentfussin' with his necktie and slickin' his hair back careful beforequittin' time. Also that Vincent has taken to gettin' shaved once a weekreg'lar now, instead of every month. 

"And he seemed very nervous when he took away his savings, " addsPiddie. "Of course, in my position I could ask for no confidences of apersonal nature; but if someone else could have a talk with him. --Well, you, for example, Torchy. "

"What a cute little idea!" says I. "What would be the openin' lines forthat scene? Something like, 'Come, my erring lad, rest your fair, sin-soaked head on my knee and tell your Uncle Torchy how you aresecretly scheming to kidnap the rich gum profiteer's lovely daughter andcarry her off to Muckhurst-on-the-Marsh. ' Piddie, you're a wonder. "

I was still chucklin' over the notion as I breezed out to lunch, but asI pushes out of the express elevator and starts across the arcade towardthe Broadway exit I lamps something over by the candy booth that leavesme with my mouth open. There is Vincent hung up against the countergazin' mushy into the dark dangerous orbs of Mirabelle, the box-tradequeen. 

Course, we all know Mirabelle in the Corrugated buildin', for she's beenpresidin' over the candy counter almost as long as the arcade shops havebeen open. She's what you might call an institution; like Apollo Mike, the elevator starter; or old Walrus Smith, the night watchman. And Iexpect there ain't a young hick or a middle-aged bookkeeper on all themtwenty-odd floors but what has had his little thrill from gettin' inline, some time or another, with a cut-up look from them high voltageeyes. She's just one of the many perils, Mirabelle is, that line thepath of the poor working man in the great city. That is, she looks thepart. 

As a matter of fact, I've always had Mirabelle sized up as a near-vampwho had worked up the act to boost sales and cinch her job. Anyway, Inever knew of her lurin' her victims into anything more desperate than ared-ink table d'hôte dinner or a six-dollar orgie at a cabaret. Andsomehow they all seem to wriggle out of the net within a week or so withno worse casualties than a feverish yearnin' for next pay day and a wiselook in the eyes. I've watched some of them young sports from the bondroom have their little fling with Mirabelle and not one of 'em has comeout a human wreck. 

Maybe they discover that Mirabelle has turned thirty. I'll admit shedon't look it, 'specially under the pink-shaded counter light when she'shad a henna treatment lately and been careful to spread the make-upartistic. The jet ear danglers helps some, too. Then there are themmisbehavin' eyes. Also when it comes to light and frivolous chatMirabelle is right there with the zippy patter. Oh my, yes! Try shootin'anything fresh across when she's wrappin' a pound of mixed chocolatesand you'll get a quick one back from Mirabelle. Probably a quizzin', twisty smile, too that sends you off kiddin' yourself that you're quitea gay bird when you really cut loose, and where's the harm once in awhile? You know the kind. 

But to think that Vincent should be fallin' for Mirabelle. Why, he sitsthere all day behind the gate in plain sight of a battery of twenty ladytypists, some of 'em as kittenish young things as ever blew a week'ssalary into a permanent wave and I've never even seen him so much asroll an eye at one. Besides, he's as perfect a specimen of a Mommer'sboy as you could find between here and the Battery. Not that he's a maleingénue. He's just a nice boy, Vincent, always neat and polite and readyto admit that he has the best little mother in the world. I don't blamehim for thinkin' so either, for I've seen her a couple of times and ifI'm any judge she fits the description. She's a widow, you know, and sheand Vincent are strugglin' along on the life insurance until they makeVincent general manager or vice-president or something. 

So, as I was telling you, it gives me more or less of a jolt to seeVincent flutterin' around Mirabelle. There's no mistakin' the motions, either. He's draped himself careless over the end of the counter andthem big innocent blue eyes of his are fairly glued on Mirabelle, whilea simple smile comes and goes, dependin' on whether she's lookin' hisway or not. Just as I stops to gawp at the proceedin's he seems to beaskin' her something, real eager and earnest. For a second Mirabellearches her plucked eyebrows and puckers her lips coy as if she waslettin' on to be shocked. Then she glances around cautious to see if thecoast is clear, reaches out and pats Vincent tender on the cheek andwhispers something in his ear. 

A minute later Mirabelle is smilin' mechanical at a fat man who'sstopped to buy a box of chocolate peppermints and Vincent is swingin'past me with his chin up and his eyes bright. It don't take any seventhson work to guess that Vincent has made a date. If it had been anybodyelse that wouldn't have meant nothing at all to me, but as it is I can'thelp feelin' that this was my cue. Just how or why I don't stop tofigure out, but I falls in behind and trails along. 

Vincent should have been headin' for the dairy lunch, but he starts inthe other direction and after followin' him for five blocks I sees himdive into a jewelry store. Maybe that don't get a gasp out of me, too. Looks like our little Vincent was some speedy performer, don't it? Andsure enough, by rubberin' in through the door, I can see a clerk haulin'out a tray of rings. Think of that! Vincent. 

He must have been in there before and looked over the stock, for insideof ten minutes out he comes again. And by makin' a quick maneuver Imanages to bump into him as he's leavin' the front door with the littlewhite box in his fist. 

"Well, well!" says I. "What's all this mean, old son? Been buyin' outthe spark shop? I expect somebody's going to get a weddin' present, eh?"

"Not--not exactly, " says Vincent, his cheeks pinkin' up and his righthand slidin' toward his coat pocket. 

"Oh, ho!" says I, grabbin' the wrist and exposin' the little squarepackage. "A ring or I'm a poor guesser. And it's for the sweetest girlin the world, ain't it?"

"It is, " says Vincent, just a bit defiant. 

"Congratulations, old man, " says I, poundin' him friendly on theshoulder. "I don't suppose I could guess who, could I?"

"I--I don't think you could, " says Vincent. 

"Then it's my blow to luncheon--reg'lar chop-house feed in honor of thebig event, " says I. "Come along, Vincent, while I order a bottle of oneand a half per cent. To drink to your luck. "

Course, he can't very well get away from that, me being one of hisbosses, as you might say. But he acts a little uneasy. 

"You see, sir, " says he, "it--it isn't quite settled. "

"I get you, " says I. "Going to spring it on her tonight, eh?"

He admits that is the plan. 

"Durin' the course of a little dinner, eh?" I goes on. 

Vincent nods. 

"That's taking the high dive, all right, " says I. "Lets you in deep, youknow, when you go shovin' solitaires at 'em. But I expect you've thoughtit over careful and picked out the right girl. "

"She is perfectly splendid, " says Vincent. 

"Well, that helps some, " says I. "One that Mother approves of, I'llbet. "

"Why, " says Vincent, his chin droppin', "I am sure she will like herwhen--when she sees her. "

"Let's see, Vincent, " says I, "you're all of nineteen, ain't you?"

"Nearly twenty, " says he. 

"How we do come along!" says I. "Why, when you took my old place on thegate you was still wearin' knickers, wasn't you? And now--I supposeit'll be a case of your bringin' home a new daughter to help Mother, eh?"

"Ye-e-es, " says Vincent draggy. 

"Lucky she's the right kind, then, " I suggests. 

"She's a wonderful girl, Torchy. Wonderful, " says he. 

"Well, I expect you're a judge, " says I. 

"I've never known anyone just like her, " he goes on, "and if she'll haveme----" He wags his head determined. 

I was hardly lookin' for such a stubborn streak in Vincent. He's alwaysseemed so mild and modest. But you never can tell. There's no doubtabout his having his mind all made up about Mirabelle, and while hername ain't mentioned once he consents to tell me what a perfectly sweetand lovely person she is. If I hadn't had a hunch who he was talkingabout I'm afraid I never would have guessed from the description. She'dput the spell on him for fair. That being the way things stood what wasthe use of my coming in with an argument? The most I could do was tohint that Vincent's salary as head office boy might be a bit strainedwhen it came to providin' for two. 

He has the answer to that, though. He's got the promise of a filingclerk's job the first of the year, with a raise every six months if hemakes good. 

"Besides, " he adds, "I may pick up a little something extra very soon. "

"Eh?" says I. "You ain't been plungin' on a curb tip, have you?"

He nods. "It came to me very straight, sir, " says he. "Oil stocks. "

"Good-night!" I groans. "Say, Vincent, you're off in high gear, allright. Matrimony and gushers, all at one clip! Lemme get my breath. Haveyou put up for the margins?"

"Oh, yes, " says Vincent. 

"Then have another piece of pie and a second cup of coffee, " says I. "You're going to need bracin' up. "

Not that I proceeds to deal out the wise stuff about oil stocks alongthe Talk to Investors line. It's too late for that. Besides, Vincent wasdue to get a lesson in the folly of piker speculatin' that would lasthim a long time. Maybe it was best for him to get it early in his youngcareer. 

But it was going to be rough on the little mother when she hears how herdarling boy has sneaked out the nest egg and tossed it reckless into themiddle of Broad Street. That would be some bump. And then on top of thatif Mirabelle is introduced as her future daughter-in-law--Well, you canframe up the picture for yourself. And right there I organizes myselfinto a relief expedition to rescue the Lost Battalion. 

I got to admit that my plan of campaign was a trifle vague. About as faras I could get was decidin' that somebody ought to have speech withMirabelle on the subject. And when we hurries back through the arcadeagain, ten minutes behind schedule, and I catches the little exchange offond looks between the two, I knows that whatever is done needs to bestarted right away. So I mumbles something about having forgotten anerrand, makes a round trip in the elevator, and am back at the candycounter almost as soon as Vincent has hung up his hat. 

"Yes-s-s, sir?" says Mirabelle inquirin', with her bestdollar-fifty-quality smile playin' around where the lip-stick has givennature a boost. 

"Hard gum drops, " says I, "or chocolate marshmallows, or most anythingin half-pound size. The main idea is a little chat with you. "

"Naughty, naughty!" says Mirabelle, shaking her head until the jet eardanglers are doing a one-step. "But you men are all alike, aren't you?"

"Is that why you've taken to cradle snatchin'?" says I. 

Mirabelle executes the wide shutter movement with her eyes and finisheswith what she thinks is a Mary Pickford pout. "Really, I don't think Iget you, " says she. "In other words, meaning what?"

"Referring to the boy, Vincent, " says I. 

"Oh!" says she, eying me curious. "Dear little fellow, isn't he?"

"Of course, " I goes on, "if it's only a case of adoption----"

"Say, " she breaks in, her eyelids gettin' narrow, "some of you ceriseblondes ought to be confined to the comic strips. Who do you thinkyou're kidding, anyway?"

"Sorry, Mirabelle, " says I, "but you're all wrong. This is straightheart-to-heart stuff. You know you've been stringin' Vincent along. "

"Suppose I have?" demands Mirabelle. "Where do you get a license tocrash in?"

"Just what I was working up to, " says I. "For one thing, he's the onlyperfect office boy in captivity. The Corrugated can't spare him. Thenagain, there's Mother. Honest, Mirabelle, you ought to seeMother--reg'lar stage widow, with the sad sweet smile, the soft grayhair, 'n'everything. If you could, you'd lay off this Theda Bara act thenext minute. "

It was a poor hunch, pullin' out that sympathy stop for Mirabelle. Iknew that when I saw them black eyes of hers begin to give off sparks. 

"Listen, son, " says she, "if you feel as bad as all that run down in thesub-cellar and sob in the coal bins. I'll be getting nervous, next thingI know, listening to ravings like that. "

"My error, " says I. "Course, you didn't know how a few kind words and alittle off-hand target practice with the eyes would affect Vincent. Howshould you? But he's taking it all serious. Uh-huh! Been buying thering. "

"What!" says Mirabelle, startled. 

"A real blue-white, set in platinum, " says I. "On the instalments, ofcourse. And he's plungin' with all his war savings on wild cat stocks tomake good. Oh, he's in a reg'lar trance, Vincent. So you see?"

Mirabelle seems to see a good deal more than I was expectin' her to. Just now she's glancin' approvin' into one of the display mirrors and ispattin' down the hair puffs over her ears. 

"He _is_ a dear boy, " she remarks, more to the mirror than to me. 

"But look here, " says I, "you--you wouldn't let him go on with this, would you?"

"I beg pardon?" says Mirabelle. "Still chattering, are you? Well, stretch your ear once, young feller. When I want your help in this I'llsend out a call. If you don't get one you'll know you ain't needed. Here's your package, sir. Sixty cents, please. "

And I'm given the quick shunt, just like that. Whatever it was I thoughtI was doing, I'd bugged it. The rescue expedition had gone on the rocks. Absolutely. I might have known better, too; spillin' all that dope aboutthe solitaire. As if that would throw a scare into Mirabelle! Of all thebush-league plays! Instead of untanglin' Vincent any from the net I'donly got him twisted up tighter. With that ring on him he was just assafe as an exposed pocket flask at an Elks' picnic. 

I was retreatin' draggy with my chin down when I happens to get a grinfrom this wise guy Marcus, in charge of the cigar booth opposite. 

"You don't have no luck with Mirabelle, eh?" says he winkin'. "That'stoo bad, ain't it? But there's lots of others. She keeps 'em allguessin'. Hard in the heart, Mirabelle has been, ever since she gotthrown overboard herself. "

"Eh?" says I. "When was that? Who did it?"

"Oh, near a year now, " says Marcus. "You know the feller who was in withme here--Chuck Dempsey?"

"The big husk with the bushy black eyebrows?" says I. 

Marcus nods. "He had Mirabelle goin' all right, " says he. "She was crazyover him. And Chuck, he was pretty strong for her, too. They had it allfixed up, the flat picked out and all, when something or other bust itup. I dunno what. Chuck, he quits the next day. Lucky thing, too, for ifhe'd stuck here he wouldn't have met up with them automobile sundriespeople and landed his new job. I hear he's manager of their Harlembranch now, seventy-five a week. Wouldn't Mirabelle be sore if she knewabout that, eh?"

"She'd have cause for grindin' her teeth, " says I. "Bully for Chuck, though. I must call him up and give him the hail. What's his number?"

I will admit too, that once I got started, I worked fast. It took meless'n three minutes to pump out of Vincent the time and place of thisfatal little dinner party he was about to pull off, and shortly afterthat I had Mr. Dempsey on the wire. Yes, he says he remembers me wellenough, on account of my hair. Most of 'em do. 

"It's a shame you've forgot someone else so quick, though, " I adds. 

"Who's that?" says he. 

"Mirabelle, " says I. 

"Oh, I don't know, " says Chuck. "Maybe it's just as well. "

"She don't think so, " says I. 

"Who was feedin' you that?" asks Dempsey. 

"A certain party, " says I. "But you know how easy a queen like her canpick up an understudy. Some have been mighty busy lately, too; one inparticular. And I don't mind sayin' I'd hate to see him win out. "

"Yes, she's some girl, all right, " says Chuck, "even if I did get alittle sore on her one night. I might be droppin' around again some ofthese days. "

"If I was you, " says I, "I'd make it snappy. In fact, not later than6:30 this evening. That is, unless you're content to figure as an alsoran. "

He's an enterprisin' young gent, Mr. Dempsey. And it seems he ain'tclosed the book on Mirabelle for good. He's rather interested in hearin'where she'll be waitin' at that hour and makes a note of it. 

"Much obliged for the tip, Torchy, " says he. "I'll think it over. "

I hoped he would. It was the best I could do for Vincent, except hangaround and 'phone out to Vee that probably I'd be late home for dinner. Seeing as how I was drillin' around at 6:30 in a doorway up opposite theCafé Caroni it looked like I would. But I'd seen Chuck Dempsey drift inall dolled up sporty, and then Mirabelle. As for Vincent, he was righton the dot, as usual. He wasn't tickled to death to find me waitin' forhim, either. 

"Oh, I say, Torchy!" he protests. 

"You wouldn't want to make it a threesome, eh?" I suggests. 

"I'd much rather not, " says he. 

"Then we'll remember that, " says I. "No harm in my edgin' in long enoughto drop a word to Joe, the head waiter, to give you a nice quiet cornertable and take care of you well, is there?"

"I'm sorry, " says Vincent. "I didn't know but what you----"

"Not me, " says I. "I'll stay long enough to get you started right. Comealong. Ah, there's Joe, down at the end, and when he--Eh? Did you chokeor anything? Well, of all things!"

Course, he'd spotted 'em right away--Mirabelle and Chuck Dempsey. They're at a little table over by the wall chattin' away cosy andconfidential. It hadn't taken 'em long to re-establish friendlyrelations. In fact, Chuck was just reachin' playful for one ofMirabelle's hands and he was gettin' away with the act. 

"Why, " says I, "it looks like the S. R. O. Sign was out already. "

Yes, it was a bit raw for Vincent. He shows his polite bringin' upthough. No rash moves or hasty words from him. He backs out graceful, even if he is a bit pale about the gills. And not until we're welloutside does he let loose a husky remark. 

"Well, I--I've been made a fool of, I suppose, " says he. 

"That depends on who's doing the judgin', " says I. "This Dempsey's nonewcomer, you know. Anyway, now you can go home to dinner with Mother. "

"But I can't, " says Vincent. "You see, I left word that I was dining intown and she--she would want to know why I didn't. "

"That's easy fixed, " says I. "You're havin' dinner with me, out at myLong Island shack. Haven't seen the large-sized family I'm startin', have you? Well, here's your chance. And we can just make the 6:47. "

Not that I'd planned it all out, but it was the best antidote toMirabelle that I could have thought up. For Vee is--Well, she's quitedifferent from Mirabelle. And I suspect after Vincent had watched herplayin' her star part as the fond little wife, and been led up to thenursery to have the baby exhibited to him, and heard us joshin' eachother friendly--Well maybe he wondered how Mirabelle would show up in astrictly domestic sketch. 

"Torchy, " says he, grippin' my hand as I'm about to load him on the10:26, "I believe I'm not going to care so much about losing Mirabelle, after all. "

"That's bucking up, " says I. "And likely they'll let you draw back yourdeposit on the ring. But you might as well bid them oil stock marginsgood-by. "

Oh, yes, I'm a bear at friendly advice. At least, I was until Vincentcomes breezin' in from lunch yesterday wearin' a broad grin. He'dconnected with a bull flurry and unloaded ten points to the good. 

"Now for a king killing, eh?" says I. 

"No, " says Vincent. "I'm through with--with everything. "

"Includin' near-vamps?" says I. 

He nods enthusiastic. 

"Then I don't see what's goin' to stop you from gettin' a Solomon Wiseratin' before they include you in the votin' list, " says I. "Go to it, son. "

THE END

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SEWELL FORD'S STORIES

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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 for 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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BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS

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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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