CHAPTER IV
TORCHY BUGS THE SYSTEM
Guess I ain't mentioned Mortimer before. Didn't seem hardly worthwhile. You know--there are parties like that, too triflin' to do anybeefin' about. But, honest, for awhile there first off this youngshrimp that was just makin' his debut as one of Miller's subslaves inthe bondroom did get on my nerves more or less. He's a slim,fine-haired, fair-lookin' young gent, with quick, nervous ways and ahabit of holdin' his chin well up. No boob, you understand. He was alive one, all right.
And it wa'n't his havin' his monogram embroidered on his shirt sleevesor his wearin' a walkin' stick down to work that got me sore. But youdon't look for the raw rebuff from one of these twelve-dollar filejugglers. That's what he slips me, though, and me only tryin' to putacross the cheery greetin'!
"Well, Percy," says I, seein' him wanderin' around lonesome durin'lunch hour, "is it you for the Folies today, or are you takin' a chanceon one of them new automatic grub factories with me?"
"Beg pardon?" says he, givin' me that frigid, distant look.
"Ah, can the hauteur!" says I. "We're on the same payroll. Maybe youdidn't notice me before, though. Well, I'm the guardian of the gate,and I'm offerin' to tow you to a new sandwich works that's quitepopular with the staff."
"Thanks," says he. "I am lunching at my club." And with that he doesa careless heel-spin, leavin' me stunned and gawpin'.
"Slap!" thinks I. "You will go doin' the little ray of sunshine act,will you? Lunchin' at his club! Now there's a classy comeback foryou! Guess I'll spring that myself sometime. Score up for Percy!"
But I wa'n't closin' the incident at that, and, while in my position itwouldn't have been hardly the thing for me to get out the war club andcamp on his trail,--him only a four-flushin' bond clerk,--I was holdin'myself ready for the next openin'. It comes only a few mornin's laterwhen he strolls in casual about nine-thirty and starts to pike by intothe cloakroom. But I had my toe against the brass gate.
"What name?" says I.
"Why," says he, flushin' up, "I--er--I work here."
"Excuse," says I, drawin' back the foot. "Mistook you for AlfyVanderbilt come to buy us out."
"Puppy!" says he explosive through his front teeth.
"Meanin' me?" says I. "Why, Algernon! How rough of you!"
He just glares hack over his shoulder and passes on for his sessionwith Miller. I'll bet he got it too; for here in the Corrugated wedon't stand for any of that nine-thirty dope except from Mr. Robert.
It's only the next week, though, that Mortimer pulls a couple moredelayed entrances in succession, and I sure was lookin' to see him comeout with a fresh-air pass in his hand. But it didn't happen. Instead,as I'm in Old Hickory's office a few days later, allowin' him to giveme a few fool directions about an errand, in breaks Miller all glowin'under the collar.
"Mr. Ellins," says he, "I can't stand that young Upton. He's got togo!"
"That's too bad," says Old Hickory, shiftin' his cigar to port. "I'dpromised his father to give the boy a three months' trial at least.One of our big stockholders, Colonel Upton is, you know. But if yousay you can't----"
"Oh, I suppose I can, Sir, in that case," says Miller; "but he's worsethan useless in the department, and if there's no way of getting him toobserve office hours it's going to be bad for discipline."
"Try docking him, Miller," suggests Mr. Ellins. "Dock him heavy. Andpile on the work. Keep him on the jump."
"Yes, Sir," says Miller, grinnin' at me' as he goes out.
And of course this throws a brighter light on Mortimer'scase,--pampered son takin' his first whirl at honest toil, and allthat. Then later in the day I gets a little private illumination.Mother arrives. Rather a gushy, talky party she is, with big, snappyeyes like Mortimer's, and the same haughty airs. Just now, though,she's a little puffy from excitement and deep emotion.
Seems Mother and Sister Janice are on their way to the steamer, billedto spend the winter abroad. Also it develops that stern Father,standin' grim and bored in the background, has ruled that Son mustn'tquit business for any farewell lallygaggin' at the pier. Hence thefam'ly call. As the touchin' scene all takes place in the receptionroom, just across the brass rail from my desk, I'm almost one of theparty.
"Oh, my darling boy!" wails Ma, pushin' back her veils and wrappin' himin the fond clinch.
"Aw, Mother!" protests Mortimer.
"But we are to be so far apart," she goes on, "and with your father inCalifornia you are to be all alone! And I just know you'll be forlornand lonesome in that dreadful boarding house! Oh, it is perfectlyawful!"
"Oh, quit it, Mother. I'll be all right," says Mortimer.
"But the work here," comes back Mother. "Does it come so hard? Howare you to stand it? Oh, if you had only kept on at college, then allthis wouldn't have been necessary."
"Well, I didn't, that's all," says Mortimer; "so what's the use?"
"I shall worry about you all the time," insists Mother. "And you areso careless about writing! How am I to know that you are not ill, orin trouble? Now promise me, if you should break down under the strain,that you will cable me at once."
"Oh, sure!" says Mortimer. "But time's up, Mother. I must be gettingback. Good-by."
I had to turn my shoulder on the final break-away, and I thought thewhole push had cleared out, when I hears a rustle at the gate, andhere's Mother once more, with her eyes fixed investigatin' on me.
"Boy," says she, "are you employed here regularly?"
"I'm one of the fixtures, Ma'am," says I.
"Very well," says she. "I am glad to hear it. And you have rather anintelligent appearance."
"Mostly bluff, though," says I. "You mustn't bank too much on looks."
"Ah, but I can tell!" says she, noddin' her head and squintin' shrewd."You have a kind face too."
"Ye-e-es?" says I. "But what's this cue for?"
"I will tell you, Boy," says she, comin' up confidential. "You see, Imust trust someone in this matter. And you will be right here, whereyou can see him every day, won't you--my son Mortimer, I mean?"
"I expect I'll have to," says I, "if he sticks."
"Then you must do this for me," she goes on. "Keep close to him. Makeyourself his friend."
"Me?" says I. "Well, there might be some trouble about that."
"I understand," says she. "It will be difficult, under thecircumstances. And Mortimer has such a proud, reserved nature! He hasalways been that way. But now that he is thrown upon his ownresources, and if you could once gain his confidence, he might allowyou to--well, you'll try, won't you? And then I shall depend upon youto send word to me once every week as to how he looks, if he seemshappy, how he is getting on in business, and so on. Come, do youpromise?"
"Is this a case of philanthropy, or what?" says I.
"Oh, I shall see that you are well repaid," says she.
"That listens well," says I; "but it's kind of vague. Any figures,now?"
"Why--er--yes," says she, hesitatin'. "Suppose I should send you,say, five dollars for every satisfactory report?"
"Then I'm on the job," says I.
And in two minutes more she's left me the address of her Londonbankers, patted me condescendin' on the shoulder, and has flitted. Sohere I am with a brand new side line,--an assignment to be friendly atso much per. Can you beat that?
It wa'n't until afterwards, either, when I'm busy throwin' on thescreen pictures of how that extra five'll fat up the Saturday payenvelope, that I remembers the exact wordin' of the contract. Five forevery satisfactory report. Gee! that's different! Then here's where Igot to see that Mortimer behaves, or else I lose out. And I don'twaste any time plannin' the campaign. I tackles him as he strolls outthirty seconds ahead of the twelve o'clock whistle.
"After another one of them clubby lunches?" says I.
"What's that to you?" he growls.
"I'm interested, that's all," says I.
"Oh, no, you're
not," says he; "you're just fresh."
"Ah, come now, Morty," says I. "This ain't no reg'lar feud we'reindulgin' in, you know. Ditch the rude retort and lemme tow you to ajoint where for----"
"Thanks," says Mortimer. "I prefer my own company."
"Gee! what poor taste!" says I.
And it looked like I'd gone and bugged any five-spot prospects with myfirst try.
So I lets Mortimer simmer for a few days, not makin' any more cracks,friendly or otherwise. I was about to hand in a blank report too, whenone noon he sort of hesitates as he passes the desk, and then stops.
"I say," he begins, "show me that cheap luncheon place you spoke of,will you?"
It's more of an order than anything else; but that only makes thissudden shift of his more amusin'. "Why, sure," says I. "Soured on theclub, have you?"
"Not exactly," says he; "but--well, the fact is, Father must haveforgotten to send a check for last month's bill, and I'm on theboard--posted, you know."
"Then that wa'n't any funny dream of yours, eh," says I, "this clubbusiness? Which is it, Lotos or the Union League?"
"It's my frat club, of course," says Mortimer. "And I don't mindsaying that it's a deucedly expensive place for me to go, even when Ican sign checks for my meals. I'm always being dragged into billiards,dollar a corner, and that sort of thing. It counts up, and I--I'mrunning rather close to the wind just now."
"What! And you gettin' twelve?" says I. "Why, say, some supportsfam'lies on that. Takes managin', though. But I'll steer you round toMax's, where for a quarter you can----"
"A quarter!" breaks in Mortimer. "But--but that's more than I haveleft."
"And this only Wednesday!" says I. "Gee! but you have been goin' thepace, ain't you? What is the sum total of the reserve, anyway?"
Mortimer scoops into his trousers pockets, fishin' up a silver knife, agold cigar clipper, and seventeen cents cash.
"Well, well!" says I. "That is gettin' down to hardpan! It's breakin'one of my business rules, but I see where I underwrite your lunchticket for the next few days."
"You mean you're going to stake me?" says he. "But why?"
"Well, it ain't on account of your winnin' ways," says I.
"Humph!" says he. "Here! You may have this stickpin as security."
"Gwan!" says I. "I ain't no loan shark. Maybe I'm just makin' aninvestment in you. Come on to Max's."
I could see Mortimer's nose begin to turn up as we crowds in at a tablewhere a couple of packers from the china store next door was doin' thesword swallowin' act. "What a noisy, messy place!" says he.
"The service ain't quite up to Louis Martin's, that's a fact," says I;"but then, there's no extra charge for the butter and toothpicks."
We tried the dairy lunch next time; but he don't like that much better.Pushin' up to the coffee urn with the mob, and havin' a tongue sandwichslammed down in front of him by a grub hustler that hadn't been to amanicure lately was only a couple of the details Mortimer shies at.
"Ah, you'll soon get to overlook little things like that," says I.
Mortimer shakes his head positive. "It's the disgusting crowd one hasto mingle with," says he. "Such a cheap lot of--of roughnecks!"
"Huh!" says I. "Lots of 'em are pullin' down more'n you or me. Someof 'em are almost human too."
"I don't care," says he. "I dislike to mix with them. It's bad enoughat the boarding house."
"None of the aristocracy there, either?" says I.
"They're freaks, all of them," says he. "What do you think--one fellowwears an outing shirt in to dinner! Then there's an old person withgray whiskers who--well, I can't bear to watch him. The others arealmost as bad."
"When you get to know the bunch you won't mind," says I.
"But I don't care to know them," says Mortimer. "I haven't spoken to asoul, and don't intend to. They're not my kind, you see."
"Are you boastin', or complainin'?" says I. "Anyway, you're in for alonesome time. What do you do evenin's?"
"Walk around until I'm tired, that's all," says he.
"That's excitin'--I don't think," says I.
Next he branches off on Miller, and starts tellin' me what a deep andlastin' grouch he'd accumulated against his boss. But I ain'tencouragin' any hammer play of that kind.
"Stow it, Morty," says I. "I'm wise to all that. Besides, you oughtto know you can't hold a job and come floatin' in at any old hour. Nowonder you got in Dutch with him! Say, is this your first stab at realwork?"
He admits that it is, and when I gets him to describe how he's beenkillin' time when he wa'n't in college it develops that one of hisprincipal playthings has been a six-cylinder roadster,--mile-a-minutebrand, mostly engine and gastank, with just space enough left for thedriver to snuggle in among the levers on the small of his back.
"I've had her up to sixty-five an hour on some of those Rhode Islandoiled stretches," says Mortimer.
"I expect," says I. "And what was it you hit last?"
"Eh?" says he. "Oh, I see! A milk wagon. Rather stiff damages theygot out of us, with the hospital and doctor's bills and all that. Butit was more the way I was roasted by the blamed newspapers that madeFather so sore. Then my being canned from college soon after--well,that finished it. So he sends Mother and Sis off to Europe, goes on abusiness trip to California himself, closes the house, and chucks meinto this job."
"Kind of poor trainin' for it, I'll admit," says I. "But buck up,Morty; we'll do our best."
"We?" says he, liftin' his eyebrows.
"Uh-huh," says I. "Me and you."
"What's it got to do with you? I'd like to know!" he demands.
"I've been retained," says I. "Never you mind how, but I'm here topass out the friendly shove, coach you along, see that you make good."
"Well, I like your nerve!" says he, stoppin' short as we're crossin'Broadway. "A young mucker like you help me make good! Say, that'srich, that is! Huh! But why don't you? Come ahead with it, now, ifyou're such an expert!"
It was a dare, all right. And for a minute there we looked each otherover scornful, until I decides that I'll carry on the friend act if Ihave to risk gettin' my head punched.
"First off, Mortimer," says I, "forgettin' what a great man you are solong as Father's payin' the bills, let's figure on just what yourstandin' is now. You're a bum bond clerk, on the ragged edge of bein'fired, ain't you?"
He winces some at that; but he still has a comeback. "If it wasn't forthat bonehead Miller, I'd get on," he growls.
"Bah!" says I. "He's only layin' down the rules of the game; so it'sup to you to follow 'em."
"But he's unreasonable," whines Mortimer. "He snoops around after me,finds fault with everything I do, and fines me for being a little latemornings."
I takes a long breath and swallows hard. Next I tries to strike thesaintly pose, and then I unreels the copybook dope just like I believedit myself.
"He does, eh?" says I. "Then beat him to it. Don't be late. Show upat eight-thirty instead of nine. That extra half-hour ain't goin' tokill you. Be the last to quit too. Play up to Miller. Do things theway he wants 'em done, even if you have to do 'em over a dozen times.And use your bean."
"But it's petty, insignificant work," says Mortimer.
"All the worse for you if you can't swing it," says I. "See here,now--how are you goin' to feel afterwards if you've always got to lookback on the fact that you begun by fallin' down on a twelve-dollar job?"
Must have got Mortimer in the short ribs, that last shot; for he walksall the rest of the way back to the Corrugated without sayin' a word.Then, just as we gets into the elevator, he unloosens.
"I don't believe it will do any good to try," says he; "but I've a mindto give it a whirl."
I didn't say so, but that was the first thing we'd agreed on that day.So that night I has to send off a report which reads like this:
Mortimer's health O. K.; disposition ragged; business prospects punk.
Hoping you are the same,
TORCHY.
It's a wonder Mortimer didn't have mental indigestion, with all thatload of gilt-edged advice on his mind, and I wa'n't lookin' for him tolug it much further'n the door; but, if you'll believe me, he seems totake it serious. Every mornin' after that I finds his hat on the hookwhen I come in, and whenever I gets a glimpse of him durin' the day hehas his coat off and is makin' a noise like the busy bee. At this ittakes some time before he makes an impression on Miller; but fin'llyMorty comes out to me with a bulletin that seems to tickle him all over.
"What do you know?" says he. "When Miller was looking over some of mywork to-day he breaks out with, 'Very good, Upton. Keep it up.'"
"Well, I expect you told him to chase himself, eh?" says I.
"No," says Mortimer. "I sprung that new scheme of mine for filing theback records, and perhaps he's going to adopt it."
"Think of that!" says I. "Say, you keep on, and you'll be presentedwith that job for life. But, honest, you don't find Miller such afish, do you?"
"Oh, I guess he's all right in his way," says Mortimer.
"Then brace yourself, Morty," says I, "while I slip you some moregolden words. Tackle that boardin' house bunch of yours. Ah, holdyour breath while you're doin' it, if you want to, and spray yourselfafterwards with disinfectant, but see if you can't learn to mix in."
"But why?" says he. "I can't see the use."
"Say, for the love of Pete," says I, "ain't it hard enough for me topress out all this wise dope without drawin' diagrams? I don't knowwhy, only you should. Go on now, take it from me."
Maybe it was followin' my hunch, or maybe there wa'n't anything elsefor him to do, but blamed if this didn't work too. Inside of two weekshe gives me the whole tale, one day as we're sittin' in the armchairsat the dairy lunch.
"Remember my telling you about the fellow who wore the outing shirt?"says he. "Well, say, he's quite a chap, you know. He's from somelittle town out in Wyoming, and he's on here trying to be acartoonist--runs a hoisting engine day times and goes to an art schoolevenings. How's that, eh?"
"Sounds batty," says I. "There's most as many would-be cartoonists asthere are nutty ones tryin' to write plays for Belasco."
"But this Blake's going to get there," says Mortimer. "I was up in hisroom Sunday, and he showed me some of his work. Clever stuff, a lot ofit. He's landed a couple of things already. Then there's old manMcQuade, the one with the whiskers. Say, he's been all over theworld,--Siberia, Africa, Japan, South America. Used to be sellingagent for a mill supply firm. He has all his savings invested in anEgyptian cotton plantation that hasn't begun to pay yet, but he thinksit will soon. You ought to hear the yarns he can spin, though!"
"So-o-o?" says I.
"But Aronwitz is the fellow I'm traveling' around with most just now,"goes on Mortimer enthusiastic. "Say, he's a wonder! Been over herefrom Hungary only six years, worked his way through Columbia, coppingan A. M. and an A. B., and sending back money to his old mother rightalong. He's a Socialist, or something, and writes for one of thoseEast Side papers. Then evenings he teaches manual training in a slumsettlement house. He took me over with him the other night and got meto help him with his boys. My, but they're a bright lot ofyoungsters--right off the street too! I've promised to take a classmyself."
"In what," says I, "table etiquette?"
"I'm going to start by explaining to them how a gasolene engine works,"says Mortimer. "They're crazy to learn anything like that. It will begreat sport."
"Mortimer," says I, "a little more of that, and I'll believe you're theguy that put the seed in succeed. Anyone wouldn't guess you was doin'penance."
"I feel that I'm really living at last," says he in earnest.
So in that next report to Mother, after I'd thanked her for the lastcheck and filled in the usual health chart and so on, I proceeds tothrow in a few extras about how Son was makin' the great discovery thatmost folks was more or less human, after all. Oh, I spread myself onthat part of it, givin' full details!
"And if that don't charm an extra five out of the old girl," thinks I,"I miss my guess."
Does it? Well, say, that happy thought stays with me for about tendays. At times I figured the bonus might be as high as a fifty. Andthen one mornin' here comes a ruddy-faced old party that I spots asColonel Upton. He calls for Mortimer, and the two of 'em has aten-minute chat in the corridor. Afterwards Morty interviews Miller,and when he comes out next he has his hat and overcoat with him.
"So long, Torchy," says he. "I'm leaving."
"Not for good!" says I. "What's wrong?"
"Mother," says he. "In some way she's found out about the sort ofpeople I've been going around with, and she's kicked up a great row,got Father on the cable, and--well, it's all off. I'm to travel abroadfor a year or so to get it out of my system."
"Gee!" says I as he goes out to join the Colonel. "Talk about boobinga swell proposition! But that was too good to last, anyway. And,believe me, if I'm ever asked again to be friendly on a salary, I bet Idon't overdo the thing."