Torchy and Vee

  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. "Senora 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 Senora 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 Cafe 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 Senora 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."