Torchy
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That's how I come to get the benefit of all this mushy conversation that
begins to drift out from the next room. First off I couldn't make out
whether it was some one havin' a tooth plugged, or if it was a case of a
mouse bein' loose at a tea party. Course, the squeals and giggles I
could place as comin' from Miss Marjorie Ellins. Maybe you remember
about Mr. Robert's heavyweight young sister that wanted to play Juliet
once?
But who the other party was I didn't have an idea, except that from the
"you-alls" she was usin' I knew she must hail from somewhere south of
Baltimore.
Anyway, they seemed to be too much excited to sit down while they
talked, and the first thing I knew they'd drifted into the lib'ry, their
arms twined around each other in a reg'lar schoolgirl clinch, and the
conversation just bubblin' out of 'em free.
Miss Marjorie was all got up classy in pink and white, and she sure does
look like a wide, corn fed Venus. The other is a slim, willowy young
lady with a lot of home grown blond hair, a cute chin dimple, and a pair
of big dark eyes with a natural rovin' disposition. And she's hobble
skirted to the point where her feet was about as much use as if they'd
been tied in a bag.
It was some kind of a long winded story she was tellin' very
confidential, with Marjorie supplyin' the exclamation points.
"Really, now, was he, Mildred?" says Marjorie.
"'Deed and 'deedy, he was!" says Mildred. "Positively the handsomest man
I ever saw! I thought I could forget him; but I couldn't, Madge, I
couldn't! And only think, he is coming this very night, and not a soul
knows but just us two!"
"Excuse me," says I; "but I'm Number Three."
"Oh, oh!" they both squeals at once.
"Who--who's that?" whispers Mildred.
"Why it's only Torchy, from Papa's office," says Marjorie. "And oh,
Mildred! He is the very one to help us! You will now, won't you, Torchy?
Come, that's a dear!"
"Please do, Torchy!" says Mildred, snugglin' up on the other side and
pattin' my red hair soothin'.
"Ah, say, reverse English on the tootsy business!" says I. "This ain't
any heart-throb matinee. G'wan!"
"Why, Torchy!" says Marjorie, real coaxin' "I thought we were such good
friends!"
"Well, I'm willin' to let it go that far," says I; "but don't try to
ring in any folksy strangers. I'm here on business for the firm."
Just then too down comes the maid sayin' there wa'n't anything to go
back; so I starts to beat it.
I didn't get far, though, with a hundred and ninety pound young lady
blockin' the doorway.
"Torchy, you must help us!" says Marjorie. "There isn't anyone else we
can ask. And you're always doing such clever things for Papa and Brother
Bob!"
Say, it was a puffy lot of hot air she hands out; but I admit that after
two or three more speeches like that, and with her promisin' to square
anything Piddie might have to say about not comin' back, she had me
goin'.
"Well, what's the proposition?" says I.
"Let's tell him all, so he will understand just what he's to do,"
suggests Marjorie.
And, say, you should have heard them two, with me pinned in between 'em
on the couch, givin' me the tale in a sort of chorus, both talkin' to
once and beginnin' at diff'rent ends.
"It's such a romance!" squeals Marjorie.
"You see, he's coming to-night," says Mildred, "and nobody knows."
"Yes, I got that all down," says I; "but what's the first part? Who is
he and where's he from?"
Well, it's some yarn, all right! Seems that Mildred was a boardin'
school chum of Marjorie's who'd come up from Atlanta to spend the summer
with friends in Newport. As a wind-up to the season they'd taken her on
a yachtin' trip up the coast. Such a poky old trip, too! Nobody aboard
but old married folks that played bridge all the time, and one bald
headed bachelor who couldn't sit out in the moonlight with her unless he
was wrapped up in a steamer rug.
So what was a girl with eyes like Mildred's to do, anyway? She was bein'
bored to death, when, as luck would have it, something went wrong with
the propeller shaft. The yacht was 'way up off the coast of Maine at the
time, and the nearest place where it was safe to anchor was in the lee
of a barren, dinky little island. And they stays there three whole days,
while the crew tinkers things up below and the folks yawn their heads
off.
All but Millie. She got so desp'rate she rowed ashore all by herself.
Accordin' to her description, that must have been a perfectly punk
little island. It was all rock, except in a few spots where there was
some scrub bushes and mangy grass. Plunk in the middle was an old shack
of a house surrounded by lobster pots and racks of codfish spread out to
dry, and she says it was the smelliest scenery she'd ever got real close
to.
But Mildred was sore on the yacht and all the stupid folks on it; so she
wanders out to windward of the worst smells, plants herself on the
flattest rock she can find, and prepares to read. That's her pose when
she looks up and discovers this male party with the sun kissed locks and
the dreamy eyes standin' there gazin' at her curious.
"It wasn't Adonis that I called him," says Mildred. "Who was that
stunning old Greek that we had the bust of in the school library,
Madge?"
"Hermes?" says Marjorie.
"That's it!" says Mildred. "He was a perfect Hermes; only his curly hair
was all sun bleached, and his face was tanned a lovely brown, and he had
big, broad shoulders, and--and he was smoking a pipe."
"And about his eyes!" prompts Marjorie.
"Oh, they were perfectly stunning," says she, "real sea blue."
Well, anybody that ever read a midsummer fiction number could have
supplied the next chapters. Here's the lovely city girl, the noble
browed but unsuspectin' native, golden summer days, and no competition.
Why, with a catchy title and a few mushy pictures it would make a lovely
contribution to one of the leadin' thirty-five-centers, just as it
stood. And Mildred knew her cue, all right. She trains them front row
eyes of hers on him, opens up with a few lines of lively chatter, and
inside of half an hour she has him sittin' picturesque at her feet,
callin' him Hermes of the Lobster Pots, and otherwise workin' the siren
spell.
"You must have flirted horribly with him," says Marjorie, sighin' deep
and admirin'.
"What else could one do?" asks Mildred. "And it was such fun! I could
get him to say hardly anything about himself; but he was a charming
listener. He would sit and gaze at me in the most soulful, appreciative
way. Poor chap!"
He must have had her guessin' some at that; for she wa'n't dead sure
whether he was a real native or not until the boss of the island shows
up. He's a hump shouldered, leather faced, bushy browed old barnacle,
with a Down East dialect that it was a dream to listen to, and it was
only when Mildred heard Hermes call him Uncle Jerry that she could
believe the two was any relation. Uncle Jerry didn't interfere, though
He let 'em moon around on the rocks without disturbin' the game, and I
judge from Millie's report that she wa'n't missin' any tricks.
Yet she's right there with the heartless behavior when the time comes,
sailin' away with a gay laugh and leavin' her blue eyed young lobster
man to yearn and mourn there on his smelly little island. Anyway, that's
how she had it doped out.
And it wa'n't until weeks later, when she'd had her snapshots of him
developed and printed, and got to summin' up the details in this case of
Victim B-23, that she discovers how a few of her own heartstrings has
been strained. Somehow she couldn't seem to tear them three August days
completely off the calendar; and when the other chappies come buzzin'
around, and she had a chance to frame 'em up alongside of this fish
island hero, there wa'n't but one answer. It was Hermes for hers, every
day in the week!
There he was, though, out on that mussy rock; and here she was, visitin'
in New York, leadin' the giddy life, and gettin' her gowns ready for the
Horse Show. If Millie had passed out the heartaches casual along her
former trails, here was where she gets at least one of 'em back on the
rebound.
You can guess how bad an attack she had when she crosses all the new
Reggie boys off her string and cooks up this scheme of sendin' for
Hermes to come to her. Her excuse is that she wants Uncle Jerry to have
the trip of his life by coming to the great city; but incident'lly she
urges him to bring his blue eyed nephew along, and the check she sends
is big enough to cover expenses for both. Bein' one of the impulsive
kind, she does it the minute the notion strikes her; and two days later
comes this postal from Uncle Jerry, sayin' how he was much obliged, and
him and his nevvy was takin' the boat for Bosting and expected to fetch
up in New York sometime next afternoon by train.
"Which is now," says Mildred. "But of course I can't go to the Grand
Central to meet him."
"Why not?" says I. "Why balk at a little thing like that when you've
been doin' so well?"
"Oh, but, Torchy," chimes in Marjorie, "you know you could do it so much
better!"
And what with both of them coaxin', and stuffin' expense money into my
pockets, the next thing I know I'm on my way down to where the Boston
trains come in, and am campin' outside the gate. I nearly wore my eyes
out, too, sizin' up the first trainload, and after an hour's wait I was
gettin' dizzy keepin' track of the second lot, when all of a sudden I
spots this old chap with the thick underbrush over his eyes and the sole
leather complexion.
"Oh, you Uncle Jerry!" I sings out, takin' a chance and pushin' through
the crowd with my hand out.
"Wall, how be ye?" says he, real hearty. "Don't remember seein' you
afore; but I s'pose it's all right."
"Sure it is, old scout," says I. "If you're Uncle Jerry, I'm Miss
Mildred's reception committee; but where's the nephew?"
"That's him," says he, jerkin' his thumb at a big, overgrown, tow haired
yawp that's trailin' along in the rear luggin' a canvas valise.
"You don't mean to tell me that's Hermes?" says I.
"I dun'no 'bout any Hermes," says he; "but this is my sister's boy Jake,
the only nephew I got, and, bein' as how Miss Mildred asked so special,
I brought him along."
Course, there's no accountin' for tastes, specially in a romantic young
lady like her; but, if this was her idea of livin' Greek statuary, she
sure was easy pleased. Why, of all the rough necked Rubes! He's one of
these loose jawed, open mouthed, lop sided youths that walks like he was
afraid of steppin' on his own feet, and looks about as much alive as a
tin rabbit that can wiggle its ears when you pull a string. His hair and
complexion was accordin' to specifications, I admit, and his eyes were
as blue as a new set of lunch counter crockery; and if he was all Uncle
Jerry could show in the nephew line, then he must be it.
"All right," says I. "It ain't me that's pickin' him. Now fall in line
right behind me, and we'll work out where he won't get run down by
baggage trucks or be mistaken by excursionists for a spray of autumn
leaves."
"Young lady didn't come down to the train, hey?" says Uncle Jerry.
"No, it makes her kind of nervous to see the cars come in," says I.
"You're due to meet her this evenin', Uncle, you and Hermes."
You see, accordin' to the plan, I was to stow the pair to some hotel,
see that they was fed, keep 'em busy durin' the early part of the
evenin', and round 'em up at a big society crush where Marjorie knew
the folks well enough so she could ask favors. If Mildred had 'em come
where she was visitin', there'd be no end of questions asked; but if she
sort of ran across 'em by accident at a place where there was a crowd,
and could have a few words with Hermes in some quiet corner, nobody
would be the wiser.
It was this last part of the programme I had in mind as I was sizin' up
Jake's travelin' costume. And, say, how is it up there in the opodeldoc
zone that they can get these high-water pant legs to fit so much like
lengths of stovepipe? They was kind of a bilious brown and cut gen'rous
in the seat; but, as far as real comic relief went, they wa'n't in it
with the cute little short tailed cutaway that he sported above 'em.
Honest, that coat was enough to make an eccentric song and dance artist
green in the eyes! And you can believe me when I say I didn't lose any
time in scootin' 'em down Fourth-ave. to a dollar a day house patronized
by some of our swellest Texas buyers. My next move is to make a report
over the 'phone.
"Yep, I got 'em both under lock and key," says I to Marjorie. "Trouble
to pick em out? Ah, it was a pipe! Specimens like that ain't so common
anyone could get mixed if they knew what day to look for 'em. Yes, the
nephew's along, all right. His real name is Jake. Well, Hermes if you
insist. But, say, ask Miss Mildred if she wants him delivered in the
original package, or should I hire some open face clothes for him."
The decision is that Hermes must come in a dress suit, and if he ain't
got any with him Marjorie will send down one of Mr. Robert's old ones.
"Oh, I'm just dying to see him in evening clothes!" gushes Mildred over
the wire. "I know he'll be perfectly splendid!"
"Maybe," says I. "Only don't forget the collar buttons and studs for the
dress shirt."
Say, I won't dwell on the gay time I had tryin' to keep that pair out of
sight until after dinner. Honest, if I'd been drivin' the monkey cage in
a circus parade I'd felt a lot better; for every fresh gink that pipes
off that vaudeville costume of Jake's has to have his say about it. At
the hash house where I steers 'em up against a twenty-five-cent course
dinner all the girl waiters got to gigglin' like they'd never seen a
freak before.
It wouldn't have been so bad with just Uncle Jerry, for he's wearin' an
old black whipcord that would pass in the dark, and, outside the rubber
collar and the plated watch chain looped across his vest, he didn't have
the crossroads tag on him very plain; but Jake might as well have had
cowbells tied to him. Maybe I wa'n't some relieved too when we got back
to the hotel and found this outfit that the girls had scraped together
and sent down.
"Now we'll fix you up for the theater and high society, Jake," says I.
"By rights you ought to have some of that neck hemp sheared off; but I
don't dare let a barber loose at you, for fear Mildred wouldn't know you
after he got through. She raved a lot about that hair of yours, Jake."
"You go on now, Smarty!" says Jaky boy, grinnin' expansive. "Think I'm
goin' to wear duds like them?"
"You do if you appear out again with me," says I. "So peel the butternut
regalia and lemme see if I can harness you up in these."
"Hee-haw!" remarks Uncle Jerry. "Let him fix you up real harnsome,
Jake."
Maybe that's what I did; but I wouldn't want to swear to it. Anyway, I
got him into the dress shirt by main strength. That was the first
struggle. Then, while Uncle Jerry held him gaspin' and groanin' on the
floor, I buttoned the high collar on and fastened the white tie. Next we
ended him up on his feet and pulled on the display vest and the long
tailed coat.
"Ug-g-gh! It chokes somethin' awful!" says Jake, gettin' purple faced
and panicky.
"Ah, close that pie gangway of yours and breathe natural for a minute!"
says I. "There, you're feelin' better already. Come, pull them knobby
wrists back up into your sleeves. This ain't no swimmin' lesson, you
know. Say, you wear a dress suit like it was so much tin armor. What's
the matter with you, anyway!"
"I--I don't know," says Jake, tryin' to stretch his head up like a
turkey. "I don't like this."
"You look it," says I. "But think who's goin' to see you in it later!
First off, though, you're goin' to a show with me. Come on, now; maybe
you'll get used to bein' dressed up by eleven o'clock."
"'Leven o'clock!" says Uncle Jerry. "Look here, Son, I ain't in the
habit of stayin' up all night, remember. I'll be droppin' off to sleep
for sartin'."
He don't, though. All through the play, which has been a two years'
scream for Broadway, he sat as solemn as if he was on a coroner's jury
in the presence of the remains. Play actin' was new to Uncle Jerry; but
he wa'n't going to give himself away, and he was just as wide awake as
anybody in the house.
With Jake it was diff'rent. I expect them washed out blue eyes of his
had taken in so many new scenes since mornin' that they couldn't absorb
any more. Anyway, he gets drowsy before the curtain goes up, and after
he's twisted his neck until he's got it collar broken he settles back
for a comf'table snooze. He looks so calm and peaceful I didn't have the
heart to disturb him, and I only jabbed my elbows in his ribs when he
got to tunin' up the nose music too loud. Besides, I was hopin' a little
nap of two or three hours might leave him some refreshed and in better
shape for exhibitin' to Miss Mildred. For the more I saw of Jake, the
less I could understand how a real live one like Millie could stand for
three days of him, even if she did, discover him on a desert island. And
as for ravin' about him afterwards--well, you never can tell, can you?
After the play it took Uncle Jerry shakin' on one side and me on the
other to bring Jake back to life from his woodsawin' act.
"Ah, quit it and give the orchestra a chance!" says I. "And keep them
elbows down! Don't try to stretch here; wait until you get back to the
open fields for that. Yes, it's all over, and you're about to butt into
society; so for Heaven's sake come out of the trance!"
Not havin' a stretcher handy, we drags him out to the curb, and I blows
some more of my expense account against a taxi, which lands us safe and
sound at this Fifth-ave. number up in the 70's. "Guests of Miss Marjorie
Ellins," was to be the password, and the flunky in satin pants at the
door seems to have been well posted.
"Yes, sir; right this way, sir," says he, wavin' us down the hall and
shootin' us into a little conservatory nook. "The gentlemen from Maine
are to wait here, and you are to meet Miss Ellins at the foot of the
grand staircase. She will be down in a moment, sir."
"I get you," says I, and, after cautionin' Jake to keep on his feet
until I came back, I slips out and posts myself behind a potted palm
where I could watch the early arrivals comin' down from the cloakrooms.
It wa'n't a long wait; for pretty soon down floats Mildred and Marjorie,
all got up in flossy party dresses and fairly quiverin' with excitement.
"Oh, you dear boy!" gushes Millie. "And he is really here, is he? My
splendid Hermes! Tell me, what did he have to say about it all?"
"Who, Jake?" says I. "Mostly he was beefin' about the way his neck ached
from the collar."
"Isn't that just like a man!" says Marjorie.
"I don't care," says Mildred. "I am just crazy to see him once more. I
want to look into his eyes and----"
"Then step lively," says I, "before they get glued up for good. Down
this way. Here you are, in there among the palms! See, there's Uncle
Jerry rubberin' around!"
"Oh, yes!" squeals Millie, clappin' her hands. "Dear old Uncle Jerry!
But--but, Torchy, where is--er--his nephew?"
"Eh?" says I. "Why, there on the bench, doin' the yawn act!"
"Wha-a-a-at!" gasps Millie, steppin' in for a closer look.
"Straight goods," says I. "That's Hermes the lobster picker."
"That!" says Mildred, shrinkin' back. "Never!"
"Huh!" says I. "I told him you wouldn't know him if he didn't keep that
face cavity of his closed. He's been doin' that since eight o'clock. But
he's the real article, serial number guaranteed by Uncle Jerry."
"No, no!" squeals Mildred, covering her face with her hands and backin'
away. "There's been some dreadful mistake! That isn't my Hermes. He
wasn't at all like that, I tell you, not at all!"
Well, we was grouped there in the hall holdin' our foolish debate, when
this strange gent strolls by huntin' for some place to light up his
cigarette. And just as one of us mentions Hermes again I notices him
turn and prick up his ears. Next thing I knew, he's stepped over and is
lookin' kind of smilin' and expectant at Mildred.
"I beg pardon if I'm wrong," says he; "but isn't this the--er--ah--the
young lady whom I had the pleasure of----"
But that's enough for Millie, just hearin' his voice. Down comes her
hands off her face. "Oh, I knew it! I knew it!" she squeals. "Hermes!"
And, say, I don't know how that old Greek looked; but if he had the
build and lines of this chap he sure was some ornamental. Anyway, the
one we had with us would have been a medal winner in any kind of
clothes. Also he had the light wavy hair and the dark blue eyes of
Millie's description, with some of the vacation tan left on his cheeks.
Marjorie's the next to be heard from.
"Why, Mr. Brooke Hartley!" says she, stickin' out her hand.
"By Jove!" says he. "Bob Ellins' little sister, eh? Hello, Marjorie!"
"Then--then----" gasps Mildred, lookin' from one to the other kind of
dazed, "then you aren't a lobster man, after all?"
"Nothing so useful as that, I'm afraid," says Hartley.
"But why were you there on that island?" she insists.
"Well," says he, "hay fever was my chief excuse. I pretend to paint
marines, you know, and that's another; but really I suppose I was just
being lazy and enjoying the society of Uncle Jerry."
"But he isn't your uncle, truly?" says Mildred.
"Well," says Hartley, "it's a relationship I share with most of the
summer people on that section of the Maine coast."
Then a light seemed to break on Mildred. She blushes to her eartips and
hides her face in her hands once more. "Oh, oh!" she groans. "And I
called you Hermes!"
"You did," says he. "And nothing ever tickled my vanity half so much.
I've lived on that for the last two months. Please don't take it back!"
"I--I won't," says Millie, lettin' loose one of them rovin' glances at
him sort of shy and fetchin'.
And, say, all tinted up that way, you could hardly blame him for
grabbin' both her hands. Not knowin' what might happen next, I proceeds
to break in.
"In the meantime," says I, "what'll you have done with this perfectly
good nephew we've got on our hands back there on the bench?"
"That one!" says Millie. "Oh, I never want to see him again! Tell him to
go away and--and go to bed."
"That'll be welcome news for Jaky, all right," says I.
CHAPTER XIX
WHEN MISS VEE THREW THE DARE
Say, I guess I might as well tell it right out; for, from all I hear
about myself, my dome must have a glass top that puts all the inside
works on exhibition. There's Zenobia, for instance, who's my
half-step-adopted aunt, as you might say. Now, she ain't one to sleuth
around, or cross-examine, or anything like that; but what she's missed
of this little affair that I ain't breathed a word of to anybody is
more'n I've got the nerve to ask.
Course, it was her put that corkin' silver frame on Vee's picture in the
first place. Just found it on my bureau, you know, and, without pumpin'
me for any account of who and why, goes and unbelts reckless for the
sterling decoration. A perfectly nice old girl, Zenobia is, if you ask
me. More'n a year ago that was, and there hasn't been a word passed
about that photo since.
Yes, it's been on the bureau all the time. Why not? When a young lady
friend of yours is dragged off to Europe by her aunt, and sends you a
stunnin' picture of herself for you to remember her by, you don't turn
it face to the wall or chuck it in the ashcan, do you? Maybe two years
it would be, she said, before she came back. It ain't so long to look
over your shoulder at; but when you come to try squintin' ahead that far
it's diff'rent. I tried it and gave it up. A whole lot can happen in two
years; so what was the use? Besides, look who she is, and then think of
all I ain't!
Couldn't help seein' the picture there night and mornin', though, could
I? Nothin' mushy about glancin' casual at it now and then, was there?
You know I ain't got any too many friends,--not so many I has to have a
waitin' list,--and outside of Zenobia and Aunt Martha, and here and
there one of the lady typewriters at the office that throws me a smile
on and off, they're mostly men. And as for fam'ly, mother, or father, or
sisters, or brothers, or real aunts--well, you know how I'm fixed. I'm
the whole fam'ly myself.
So you see, when I looks at Miss Vee there, and thinks how nice she was
to me them two times when we met by accident,--once at the dance where I
was subbin' in the cloakroom, and again at the tea where I'd been sent
to trail Mr. Robert--well, even if she hadn't been such a queen, I don't
think I'd forgot her right away. Course, though, as for figurin' out
why she ever noticed me at all, that's a myst'ry I had to pass up.
Must have been soon after she went away that I begun sizin' up some
critical the gen'ral style and get up of the party whose hair I was
combin' and whose face I was washin' more or less reg'lar. Startin' with
the collar, I discovered that mine gen'rally had saw edges, gaped in the
middle, and got some soiled about the third day. From then on I've been
particular about havin' a close front collar and puttin' on a fresh one
every mornin', whether I need it or not. Next I got wise to the fact
that one tie wouldn't last more'n six months without showin' signs of
wear, and it wa'n't long before I had quite a collection hangin' over
the gasjet. Up to then I didn't have the tooth powder habit very strong;
but it's chronic with me now. See the result?
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