Torchy, Private Sec.

  CHAPTER IV

  BREAKING IT TO THE BOSS

  I don't admit it went to my head,--not so bad as that,--only maybe mychest measure had swelled an inch or so, and I wouldn't say my heelswa'n't hittin' a bit hard as I strolls dignified up and down the privateoffice.

  You see, Mr. Robert was snitchin' a couple of days off for the Newportregatta, and he'd sort of left me on the lid, as you might say. So faras there bein' any real actin' head of the Corrugated Trust for the timebeing--well, I was it. Anyway, I'd passed along some confidential dopeto our Western sales manager, stood by to take a report from the specialaudit committee, and had an interview with the president of a big bondhouse, all in one forenoon. That was speedin' up some for a private sec,wa'n't it?

  And now I was just markin' time, waitin' for what might turn up, andfeelin' equal to pullin' off any sort of a deal, from matchin' Piddiefor the lunches to orderin' a new stock issue. What if the asphalt overon Fifth-ave. was softenin' up, with the mercury hittin' the nineties,and half the force off on vacations? I had a real job to attend to. Iwas doin' things!

  And as I stops by the roll-top to lean up against it casual I had thatcomf'table, easy feelin' of bein' the right man in the right place. Youknow, I guess? You're there with the goods. You ain't the whole worksmaybe; but you're a special, particular party, one that can push buttonsand have 'em answered, paw over the mail, or put your initials under asignature.

  And right in the midst of them rosy reflections the door to the privateoffice swings open abrupt and in pads a stout old party wearin' agenerous-built pongee suit and a high-crowned Panama. Also there'ssomething familiar about the bushy eyebrows and the lima bean ears. It'sOld Hickory himself. I chokes down a gasp and straightens up.

  "Gee, Mr. Ellins!" says I. "I thought you was down at the Springs?"

  "Didn't think I'd been banished for life, did you?" says he.

  "But Mr. Robert," I goes on, "didn't look for you until----"

  "No doubt," he breaks in. "Robert and those fool doctors would have keptme soaking in those infernal mud baths until I turned into a crocodile.I know. I'm a gouty, rheumatic old wreck, I suppose; but I'll be dadblistered if I'm going to end my days wallowing in medicated mud! I'vehad enough. Where is everybody?"

  So I has to account for Mr. Robert, tell how Mrs. Ellins and Marjorieand Son-in-Law Ferdie are up to Bar Harbor, and hint that they'reexpectin' him to come up as soon as he lands.

  "That's their programme, is it?" he growls. "Think I'm going to spendthe rest of the season sitting on a veranda taking pills, do they? Well,they're mistaken!"

  And off he goes into his own room. I don't know what he thought he wasgoin' to do there. Just habit, I expect. For we've been gettin' alongwithout Old Hickory for quite some time now, while he's been away. Firstoff he tried to keep in touch with things by night letters, then he hada weekly report sent him; but gradually he lost the run of the newdeals, and for the last month or so he'd quit firin' over any orders atall.

  Through the open door I could see him sittin' at his big, flat-toppedmahogany desk, starin' around sort of aimless. Then he pulls out adrawer and shuffles over some old papers that had been there ever sincehe left. Next he picks up a pen and starts to make some notes.

  "Boy!" he sings out. "Ink!"

  Course I could have pushed the buzzer and had Vincent do it; but seein'how nobody had put him wise to the change, I didn't feel likeannouncin' it myself. So I fills the inkwell, chases up a waste basketfor him, and turns on the electric fan.

  "Now bring the mail!" says he snappy.

  He was back to; so it was safe to smile. You see, I'd attended to allthe mornin' deliveries, sorted out what I knew had to be held over forMr. Robert, opened what was doubtful, and sent off a few answersaccordin' to orders. But, after all, he was the big boss. He had a rightto go through the motions if he wanted to. So I lugs in the mail, dumpsit in the tray, and leaves him with it.

  Must have been half an hour later, and I was back at my own desk dopingout a schedule I'd promised to fix up for Mr. Robert, when I glances upto find Old Hickory wanderin' around the room absent-minded. He'sstarin' hard at a letter he holds in one paw. All of a sudden hediscovers me at the roll-top. For a second he scowls at me from underthe bushy eyebrows, and then comes the explosion.

  "Boy!" he sings out. "What the hyphenated maledictions are you doingthere?"

  Well, I broke it to him as gentle as I could.

  "Promoted, eh?" he snorts. "To what?"

  And I explains how I'm private secretary to the president of the MutualFunding Company.

  "Never heard of such an organization," says he. "What is it, anyway?"

  "Dummy concern mostly," says I, "faked up to stall off the I. C. C."

  "Eh?" he gawps.

  "Interstate Commerce Commission," says I. "We beat 'em to it, you know,by dissolvin'--on paper. Had to have somebody to use the rubber stamp;so they picked me off the gate."

  "Humph!" he grunts. "So you're no longer an office boy, eh? But I hadyou hopping around like one. How was that?"

  "Guess I got a hop or two left in me," says I, "specially for you, Mr.Ellins."

  "Hah!" says he. "Also more or less blarney left on the tongue. Well,young man, we'll see. As office boy you had your good points, Iremember; but as----" Then he breaks off and repeats, "We'll see, Son."And he goes to studyin' the letter once more.

  Fin'lly he sends for Piddie. They confabbed for a while, and as Piddiecomes out he's still explainin' how he's sure he don't know, but mostlikely Mr. Robert understands all about it.

  "Hang what Robert understands!" snaps Old Hickory. "He isn't here, ishe? And I want to know now. Torchy, come in here!"

  "Yes, Sir," says I, scentin' trouble and salutin' respectful.

  "What about these Universal people refusing to renew that Manisteeterminal lease?" he demands.

  And if he'd asked how many feathers in a rooster's tail I'd been just asfull of information. But from what Piddie's drawn by declarin' an alibi,it didn't look like that was my cue.

  "Suppose I get you the correspondence on that?" says I, and rushes outafter the copybook.

  But the results wa'n't enlightenin'. We'd applied for renewal on the oldterms, the Universal folks had sent back word that in due course thematter would be taken up, and that's all until this notice comes in thatthere's nothin' doin'. "Inexpedient under present conditions," was theway they put it.

  "I expect Mr. Robert will be back Monday," I suggests cautious.

  "Oh, do you?" raps out Old Hickory. "And meanwhile this lease expiresto-morrow noon, leaving us without a foot of ore wharf anywhere on theGreat Lakes. What does Mr. Robert intend to do then--transport byaeroplane? Just asked pleasant and polite for a renewal, did he? Andbefore I could make 'em grant the original I all but had their directorsstrung up by the thumbs! Hah!"

  He settles back heavy in his chair and sets them cut granite jaws of hissolid. He don't look so much like an invalid, after all. There's goodcolor in his cheeks, and behind the droopy lids you could see thefighting light in his eyes. He glances once more at the letter.

  "Hello!" says he. "I thought their main offices were in Chicago. This isfrom Broadway, International Utilities Building. Perhaps you can tell mewhat they're doing down there?"

  "Subsidiary of I. U.," says I. "Been listed that way all summer."

  "Then," says Old Hickory, smilin' grim, "we have to do once more with noless a personage than Gedney Nash. Well, so be it. He and I have foughtout other differences. We'll try again. And if I'm a back number, I'llsoon know it. Now get me a list of our outside security holdings."

  That was his first order; but, say, inside of half an hour he hadeverybody in the shop, from little Vincent up to the head of the bonddepartment, doin' flipflops and pinwheels. Didn't take 'em long to findout that he was back on the job, either.

  "Breezy with that now!" I'd tell 'em. "This is a rush order for the oldman. Sure he's in there. Can't you smell the sulphur?"

  In the midst
of it comes a hundred-word code message from Dalton, ourtraffic superintendent, sayin' how he'd been notified to remove hiswharf spurs within twenty-four hours and askin' panicky what he shoulddo about it.

  "Tell him to hold his tracks with loaded ore trains, and keep his shirton," growls Old Hickory over his shoulder. "And 'phone Peabody, Frost &Co. to send up their railroad securities expert on the double quick."

  That's the way it went from eleven A.M. until two-thirty, and all thelunch I indulged in was two bites of a cheese sandwich that Vincentsplit with me. At two-thirty-five Old Hickory jams on his hat andsignals for me.

  "Gather up those papers and come along," says he. "I think we're readynow to talk to Gedney Nash."

  I smothered a gasp. Was he nutty, or what? You know you don't drop inoffhand on a man like Gedney Nash, same as you would on a shrimp bankpresident, or a corporation head. You hear a lot about him, ofcourse,--now givin' a million to charity, then bein' denounced as anational highway robber,--but you don't see him. Anyway, I never knew ofanyone who did. He's the man behind, the one that pulls the strings.Course, he's supposed to be at the head of International Utilities, buthe claims not to hold any office. And you know what happened whenCongress tried to get him before an investigatin' committee. All thatshowed up was a squad of lawyers, who announced they was ready toanswer any questions they couldn't file an exception to, and threedoctors with affidavits to prove that Mr. Nash was about to expire fromas many incurable diseases. So Congress gave it up.

  Yet here we was, pikin' downtown without any notice, expectin' to findhim as easy as if he was a traffic cop on a fixed post. Well, we didn't.The minute we blows into the arcade and begins to ask for him, up slidesa smooth-talkin' buildin' detective who listens polite what I feed himand suggests that if we wait a minute he'll call up the gen'ral offices.Which he does and reports that they've no idea where Mr. Nash can befound. Maybe he's gone to the mountains, or over to his Long Islandplace, or abroad on a vacation.

  "Tommyrot!" says Old Hickory. "Gedney Nash never took a vacation in hislife. I know he's in New York now."

  The gentleman sleuth shrugs his shoulders and allows that if Mr. Ellinsain't satisfied he might go up to Floor 11 and ask for himself. So up wewent. Ever in the Tractions Buildin'? Say, it's like bein' caught in afog down the bay,--all silence and myst'ry. I expect it's theheadquarters of a hundred or more diff'rent corporations, all tied upsome way or other with I. U. interests; but on the doors never the nameof one shows: just "Mr. So-and-So," "Mr. Whadye Callum," "Mr.This-and-That." Clerks hurry by you with papers in their hands, walkin'soft on rubber heels. They tap respectful on a door, it opens silent,they disappear. When they meet in the corridors they pass withouthailin', without even a look. You feel that there's something doin'around you, something big and important. But the gears don't give outany hum. It's like a game of blind man's bluff played in the dark.

  And the sharp-eyed, gray-haired gent we talked to through the brassgratin' acted like he'd never heard the name Gedney Nash before. WhenOld Hickory cuts loose with the tabasco remarks at him he only smilespatient and insists that if he can locate Mr. Nash, which he doubts,he'll do his best to arrange an interview. It may take a day, or a week,or a month, but----

  "Bah!" snorts Old Hickory, turnin' on his heel, and he cusses eloquentall the way down and out to the taxi.

  "Seems to me I've heard how Mr. Nash uses a private elevator," Isuggests.

  "Quite like him," says Old Hickory. "Think you could find it?"

  "I could make a stab," says I.

  But at that I knew I was kiddin' myself. Why not? Ain't there been timeswhen whole bunches of live-wire reporters, not to mention relays ofcourt deputies, have raked New York with a fine-tooth comb, lookin' forGedney Nash, without even gettin' so much as a glimpse of his limousinerollin' round a corner.

  "Suppose we circle the block once or twice, while I tear off a fewSherlock Holmes thoughts?" says I.

  Mr. Ellins sniffs scornful; but he'd gone the limit himself, so he givesthe directions. I leaned back, shut my eyes, and tried to guess how afoxy old guy like Nash would fix it up so he could do the unseen duckoff Broadway into his private office. Was it a tunnel from the subwaythrough the boiler basement, or a bridge from the next skyscraper,or---- But the sight of a blue cap made me ditch this dream stuff. FunnyI hadn't thought of that line before--and me an A. D. T. once myself!

  "Hey, you!" I calls out the window. "Wait up, Cabby, while we take on apassenger. Yes, you, Skinny. Hop in here. Ah, what for would we bekidnappin' a remnant like you? It's your birthday, ain't it? And thegentleman here has a present for you--a whole dollar. Eh, Mr. Ellins?"

  Old Hickory looks sort of puzzled; but he forks out the singleton, andthe messenger climbs in after it. A chunky, round-faced kid he was too.I pushed him into one of the foldin' front seats and proceeds to applythe pump.

  "What station do you run from, Sport?" says I.

  "Number six," says he.

  "Oh, yes," says I. "Just back of the Exchange. And is old Connolly chiefdown there still?"

  "Yes, Sir," says he.

  "Give him my regards when you get back," says I, "and tell him Torchysays he's a flivver."

  The kid grins enthusiastic.

  "By the way," I goes on, "who's he sendin' out with the Nashwork--Gedney Nash's, you know?"

  "Number 17," says he, "Loppy Miller."

  "What!" says I. "Old Loppy carryin' the book yet? Why, he had grown kidswhen I wore the stripes. Well, well! Cagy old duffer, Loppy. Ever askhim where he delivers the Nash business?"

  "Yep," says the youngster, "and he near got me fired for it."

  "But you found out, didn't you?" says I.

  He glances at me suspicious and rolls his eyes. "M-m-m-m," says he,shakin' his head.

  "Ah, come!" says I. "You don't mean that a real sure-fire like you couldbe shunted that way? There'd be no harm in your givin' a guess, and ifit was right--well, we could run that birthday stake up five more;couldn't we, Mr. Ellins?"

  Old Hickory nods, and passes me a five-spot prompt.

  "Well?" says I, wavin' it careless.

  The kid might have been scared, but he had the kale-itch in his fingers."All I know," says he, "is that Loppy allus goes into the William Streetlobby of the Farmers' National."

  "Go on!" says I. "That don't come within two numbers of backin' againstthe Traction Buildin'."

  "But Loppy allus does," he insists. "There's a door to the right, justbeyond the teller's window. But you can't get past the gink in the grayhelmet. I tried once."

  "Secret entrance, eh?" says I. "Sounds convincin'. Anyway, I got yournumber. So here's your five. Invest it in baby bonds, and don't let onto Mother. You're six to the good, and your job safe. By-by!"

  "What now?" says Old Hickory. "Shall we try the secret door?"

  "Not unless we're prepared to do strong arm work on the guard," says I."No. What we got to frame up now is a good excuse. Let's see, you can'tring in as one of the fam'ly, can you?"

  "Not as any relative of Gedney's," says Old Hickory. "I'm not builtright."

  "How about his weak points?" says I. "Know of any fads of his?"

  "Why," says Mr. Ellins, "he is a good deal interested in landscapegardening, and he goes in for fancy poultry, I believe."

  "That's the line!" says I. "Poultry! Ain't there a store down nearFulton Market where we could buy a sample?"

  I was in too much of a rush to go into details, and it must have seemeda batty performance to Old Hickory; but off we chases, and when we droveup to the Farmers' National half an hour later I has a wicker cage ineach hand and Mr. Ellins has both fists full of poultry literaturedisplayed prominent. Sure enough too, we finds the door beyond theteller's window, also the gink in the gray helmet. He's a husky-builtparty, with narrow-set, suspicious eyes.

  "Up to Mr. Nash's," says I casual, makin' a move to walk right past.

  "Back up!" says he, steppin' square across the way. "What Mr. Nash?"

  "Whadye mean
, what Mr. Nash?" says I. "There ain't clusters of 'em, arethere? Mr. Gedney Nash, of course."

  "Wrong street," says he. "Try around on Broadway."

  "What a kidder!" says I. "But if you will delay the champion hen expertof the country," and I nods to Old Hickory, "just send word up to Mr.Nash that Mr. Skellings has come with that pair of silver-slashed blueOrpingtons he wanted to see."

  "Blue which?" says the guard.

  "Ah, take a look!" says I. "Ain't they some birds? Gold medal winners,both of 'em."

  I holds open the paper wrappings while he inspects the cacklers. And,believe me, they was the fanciest poultry specimens I'd ever seen!Honest, they looked like they'd been got up for the pullets' annualcostume ball.

  "And Mr. Nash," I goes on, "said Mr. Skellings was to bring 'em in thisway."

  The guard takes another glance at Old Hickory, and that got him; for inhis high-crowned Panama the boss does look more like a fancy farmer thanhe does like the head of the Corrugated.

  "I'll see," says he, openin' a little closet and producin' a 'phone. Hewas havin' some trouble too, tellin' someone just who we was, when Icuts in.

  "Ah, just describe the birds," says I. "Silver-slashed blue Orpingtons,you know."

  Does it work? Say, in less than two minutes we was being towed through awindin' passage that fin'lly ends in front of a circular shaft with acute little elevator waitin' at the bottom.

  "Pass two," says the guard.

  Another minute and we're bein' shot up I don't know how many stories,and are steppin' out into the swellest set of office rooms I was everin. A mahogany door opens, and in comes a wispy, yellow-skinned,dried-up little old party with eyes like a rat. Didn't look much likethe pictures they print of him, but I guessed it was Gedney.

  "Some prize Orpingtons, did I understand?" says he, in a soft, purryvoice. "I don't recall having----" Then he gets a good look at OldHickory, and his tone changes sudden. "What!" he snaps. "You, Ellins?How did you get in here?"

  "With those fool chickens," says the boss.

  "But--but I didn't know," goes on Mr. Nash, "that you were interested inthat sort of thing."

  "Glad to say I'm not," comes back Old Hickory. "Just a scheme of mybrilliant-haired young friend here to smuggle me into the sacredpresence. Great Zacharias, Nash! why don't you shut yourself in a steelvault, and have done with it?"

  Gedney bites his upper lip, annoyed. "I find it necessary," says he, "toavoid interruptions. I presume, however, that you came on some errand ofimportance?"

  "I did," says Old Hickory. "I want to get a renewal of that Manisteeterminal lease."

  Say, of all the scientific squirmin', Gedney Nash can put up theslickest specimen. First off he lets on not to know a thing about it.Well, perhaps it was true that International Utilities did control thosewharves: he really couldn't say. And besides that matter would be leftentirely to the discretion of----

  "No, it won't," breaks in Old Hickory, shakin' a stubby forefinger athim. "It's between us, Nash. You know what those terminal privilegesmean to us. We can't get on without them. And if you take 'em away, it'sa fight to a finish--that's all!"

  "Sorry, Ellins," says Mr. Nash, "but I can do nothing."

  "Wait," says Old Hickory. "Did you know that we held a big block of yourM., K. & T.'s? Well, we do. They happen to be first lien bonds too. AndM., K. & T. defaulted on its last interest coupons. Entirelyunnecessary, I know, but it throws the company open to a foreclosurepetition. Want us to put it in?"

  "H-m-m-m!" says Mr. Nash. "Er--won't you sit down?"

  Now if it had been two common, everyday parties, debatin' which owned ayellow dog, they'd gone hoarse over it; but not these two plutes. GedneyNash asks Old Hickory only three more questions before he turns to thewicker cages and begins admirin' the fancy poultry.

  "Excellent specimens, excellent!" says he. "And in the pink of conditiontoo. I have a few Orpingtons on my place; but--oh, by the way, Ellins,are these really intended for me?"

  "With Torchy's compliments," says Old Hickory.

  "By Jove!" says Gedney. "I--I'm greatly obliged--truly, I am. Whatplumage! What hackles! And--er--just leave that terminal lease, willyou? I'll have it renewed and sent up. Would you mind too if I sent youout by the Broadway entrance?"

  I didn't mind, for one, and I guess the boss didn't; for the last officewe passes through was where the gray-haired gent camped watchful behindthe brass gratin'.

  "Well, wouldn't that crimp you?" I remarks, givin' him the passin' grin."Our old friend Ananias, ain't it?"

  And he never bats an eyelash.

  But Gedney wa'n't in that class. Before closin' time up comes asecretary with the lease all signed. I was in the boss's room when it'sdelivered.

  "Gee, Mr. Ellins!" says I. "You don't need any more mud baths, I guess."

  All the rise that gets out of him is a flicker in the mouth corners."Young man," says he, "whose idea was it, taking you off the gate?"

  "Mr. Robert's," says I.

  "I am glad to learn," says he, "that Robert had occasional lapses intosanity while I was away. What about your salary? Any ambitions in thatdirection?"

  "I only want what I'm worth," says I.

  "Oh, be reasonable, Son," says he. "We must save something for thestockholders, you know. Suppose we double what you're getting now? Willthat do?"

  And the grin I carries out is that broad I has to go sideways throughthe door.