Torchy As A Pa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And if anybody offers to give you a steer down there," says I, "don't
refuse. It might be just tin-horn advice, but then again he might mean a
long-horn beef."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whaddye mean, nice?" I demands.

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

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

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

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

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

"Why, Mrs. Gummidge!" gasps Vee.

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

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

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

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

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

"Oil," says Pa Gummidge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Henry's notion," says Mrs. Gummidge. "You remember the Whitleys that
complained about him? He had an idea Whitley's business was petering
out. Well, it was, and he was glad enough to sub-let to Henry. Never
knew, either, until after the lease was signed, who we were. Furnished
kind of nice, don't you think?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IV

FINDING OUT ABOUT BUDDY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Say, I had to gasp when Joe names his bargain price. You see, I'd never
been shoppin' for dogs before, and I hadn't kept track of the puppy
market quotations. Course, I knew that some of these fancy, full-grown
specimens of classy breeds brought big money at times. But little pups
like this, that you could hold in your hand, or tuck into your overcoat
pocket--why, my idea was the people who had 'em sort of distributed 'em
around where they would have good homes; or else in the case of a party
like Joe you might slip him a five or a ten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do they?" says I.

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

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