Torchy, Private Sec.

  CHAPTER V

  SHOWING GILKEY THE WAY

  I got to say this about Son-in-Law Ferdie: He's a help! Not constant,you know; for there's times when it seems like his whole scheme ofusefulness was in providin' something to hang a pair of shell-rimmedglasses on, and givin' Marjorie Ellins the right to change her name. Butoutside of that, and furnishin' a comic relief to the rest of thefam'ly, blamed if he don't come in real handy now and then.

  Last Friday was a week, for a sample. I meets up with him as he'sdriftin' aimless through the arcade, sort of caromin' round and round,bein' bumped by the elevator rushers and watched suspicious by the floordetective.

  "What ho, Ferdie!" I sings out, grabbin' him by the elbow and swingin'him out of the line of traffic. "This ain't no place to practice themaxixe."

  "I--I beg--oh, it's you, Torchy, is it?" says he, sighin' relieved."Where do I go to send a telegram?"

  "Why," says I, "you might try the barber shop and file it with thebrush boy, or you could wish it on the candy-counter queen over thereand see what would happen; but the simple way would be to step around tothe W. U. T. window, by the north exit, and shove it at Gladys."

  "Ah, thanks," says he, "North exit, did you say? Let's see, thatis--er----"

  "'Bout face!" says I, takin' him in tow. "Now guide right! Hep, hep,hep--parade rest--here you are! And here's the blank you write it on.Now go to it!"

  "I--er--but I'm not quite sure," protests Ferdie, peelin' off one of hischamois gloves, "I'm not quite sure of just what I ought to say."

  "That bein' the case," says I, "it's lucky you ran into me, ain't it?Now what's the argument?"

  Course it was a harrowin' crisis. Him and Marjorie had got an invitesome ten days ago to spend the week-end at a swell country house over onLong Island. They'd hemmed and hawed, and fin'lly ducked by sendin' wordthey was so sorry, but they was expectin' a young gent as guest aboutthen. The answer they got back was, "Bring him along, for the love ofMike!" or words to that effect. Then they'd debated the question somemore. Meanwhile the young gent had canceled his date, and the time hasslipped by, and here it was almost Saturday, and nothin' doing in thereply line from them. Marjorie had thought of it while they was havin'lunch in town, and she'd chased Ferdie out to send a wire, withouttellin' him what to say.

  "And you want someone to make up your mind for you, eh?" says I. "Allright. That's my long suit. Take this: 'Regret very much unable toaccept your kind invitation'--which might mean anything, from a previousengagement to total paralysis."

  "Ye-e-es," says Ferdie, hangin' his bamboo stick over his left arm andchewin' the penholder thoughtful, "but Marjorie'll be awfullydisappointed. I think she really does want to go."

  "Ah, squiffle!" says I. "She'll get over it. Whose joint is it, anyway?"

  "Why," says he, "the Pulsifers', you know."

  "Eh?" says I. "Not the Adam K.'s place, Cedarholm?"

  Ferdie nods. And, say, it was like catchin' a chicken sandwich droppedout of a clear sky. The Pulsifers! Didn't I know who was there? I did!I'd had a bulletin from a very special and particular party, sayin' howshe'd be there for a week, while Aunty was in the Berkshires. And up tothis minute my chances of gettin' inside Cedarholm gates had been nulland void, or even worse. But now--say, I wanted to be real kind toFerdie!

  "One or two old friends of Marjorie's are to be there," he goes ondreamy.

  "They are?" says I. "Then that's diff'rent. You got to go, of course."

  "But--but," says he, "only a moment ago you----"

  "Ah, mooshwaw!" says I. "You don't want Marjorie grumpin' around for thenext week, do you, wishin' she'd gone, and layin' it all to you?"

  Ferdie blinks a couple of times as the picture forms on the screen."That's so," says he. "She would."

  "Then gimme that blank," says I. "Now here, how's this, 'Have at lastarranged things so we can come. Charmed to accept'? Eh?"

  "But--but there's Baby's milk," objects Ferdie. "Marjorie always watchesthe nurse sterilize it, you know."

  "Do up a gallon before you leave," says I.

  "It's such a puzzling place to get to, though," says Ferdie. "I'm surewe'd never get on the right train."

  "Whadye mean, train," says I. "Ah, show some class! Go in yourlimousine."

  "So we could," says Ferdie. "But then, you know, they'll be expectin' usto bring an extra young man."

  "They needn't be heartbroken over that," says I. "You didn't say who hewas, did you?"

  "Why, no," says Ferdie; "but----"

  "Since you press me so hard," says I, "I'll sub for him. Guess you needme to get you there, anyway."

  "By Jove!" says Ferdie, as the proposition percolates through thehominy. "I wonder if----"

  "Never waste time wonderin'," says I. "Take a chance. Here, sign yourname to that; then we'll go hunt up Marjorie and tell her the gladnews."

  Ferdie was still in a daze when we found the other three-quarters of thesketch, and Marjorie was some set back herself when I springs thescheme. But she's a good sport, Marjorie is, and if she was hooked up toa live one she'd travel just as lively as the next heavyweight.

  "Oh, let's!" says she, clappin' her hands. "You know we haven't beenaway from home overnight for an age. And Edna Pulsifer's such a dear,even if her father is a grouchy old thing. We'll take Torchy along too.What do you say, Ferdie?"

  Foolish question! Ferdie was still dazed. And anyhow she had said itherself.

  So that's how it happens I'm one of the chosen few to be landed underthe Cedarholm porte-cochere that Saturday afternoon. Course thePulsifers ain't reg'lar old fam'ly people, like Ferdie's folks. Theydate back to about the last Broadway horse-car period, I understand,when old Adam K. begun to ship his Cherryola dope in thousand-case lots.Now, you know, it's all handled for him by the drug trust, and he onlysits by the safety-vault door watchin' the profits roll in. But with hisname still on every label you could hardly expect the Pulsifers toqualify for Mrs. Astor's list.

  Seems Edna went to the same boardin' school as Marjorie and Vee, though,and neither of 'em ever thinks of throwin' Cherryola at her. And as faras an establishment goes, Cedarholm is the real thing. Gave me quitesome thrill to watch two footmen in silver and baby blue pryin' Marjorieout of the limousine.

  "Gee!" thinks I, glancin' around at the deep verandas, the swing seats,and the cozy corner nooks. "If Vee and I can't get together for a fewchatty words among all this, then I'm a punk plottist!"

  These country house joints are so calm and peaceful too! It's a wonderanybody could work up a case of nerves, havin' this for a steady thing.But Edna and Mrs. Pulsifer acted sort of restless and jumpy. She's atall, thin, hollow-eyed dame, Mrs. Pulsifer is, with gray hair and asmooth, easy voice. Miss Edna must take more after her Pa; for she'sfilled out better, and while she ain't what you'd call mug-mapped, shehas one of these low-bridge noses and a lot of oily, dark red hair thatshe does in a weird fashion of her own with a side part. Seems shy andbashful too, except when she snuggles up on the lee side of Marjorie andtrails off with her.

  The particular party I was strainin' my eyesight for ain't in evidence,though, and all the hint I gets of her bein' there was hearin' a ripplylaugh at the far end of the hallway when she and Marjorie go to a fondclinch. That was some comfort, though,--she was in the house!

  As I couldn't very well go scoutin' around whistlin' for her to comeout, I does the next best thing. After bein' shown my room I driftsdownstairs and out on the lawn where I'd be some conspicuous. Course Iwa'n't suggestin' anything, but if somebody should happen to see me andjudge that I was lonesome, they might wander out that way too. Sureenough somebody did,--Ferdie.

  "I thought you had to take a nap before dinner," says I, maybe not socordial.

  "Bother!" says he. "There's no such thing as that possible with thosethree girls chattering away in the next room."

  "Well, they ain't been together for some time, I expect," says I.

  "It's worse than usual," says Ferdie. "A man in the case, you mightknow
."

  "Eh?" says I, prickin' up my ears. "Whose man?"

  "Oh, Edna Pulsifer's absurd ditch digger," says Ferdie. "He's a youngengineer, you know, that she's been interested in for a couple of years.Her father put a stop to it once; kept her in Munich for ten months--andthat's a perfectly deadly place out of season, you know. But it doesn'tseem to have done much good."

  I grins. Surprisin' how cheerful I could be so long as it was a case ofMiss Pulsifer's young man. I pumps the whole tale out of Ferdie,--howthis Mr. Bert Gilkey--cute name too--had been writin' her letters allthe time from out West, how he'd been seized with a sudden fit, wired onthat he must see her once more, and had rushed East. Then how PaPulsifer had caught 'em lalligaggin' out by the hedge, had talked realrough to Gilkey, and ordered him never to muddy his front doormat again.

  "And now," goes on Ferdie, "he sends word to Edna that he means to tryit once more, no matter what happens, and everyone is all stirred up."

  "So that accounts for the nervous motions, eh?" says I. "What does PaPulsifer have to say to this defi?"

  "Goodness!" says Ferdie, shudderin'. "He doesn't know. No one dares tellhim a word. If he found out--well, it would be awful!"

  "Huh!" says I. "One of these fam'ly ringmasters, is he?"

  That was it, and from Ferdie's description I gathered that old Adam K.was a reg'lar domestic tornado, once he got started. Maybe you know thebrand? And it seems Pa Pulsifer was the limit. So long as things wenthis way he was a prince,--right there with the jolly haw-haw, fond ofcallin' wifey pet names before strangers, and posin' as an easymark,--but let anybody try to pull off any programme that didn't jibewith his, and black clouds rolled up sudden in the West.

  "I do hope," goes on Ferdie, "that nothing of that sort occurs while weare here."

  So did I, for more reasons than one. What I wanted was peace, and plentyof it, with Vee more or less disengaged.

  Nothin' could have been more promisin' either than the openin' of thatfirst dinner party. Pa Pulsifer had showed up about six o'clock from theCountry Club, with his rugged, hand-hewed face tinted up cheery. Some ofit was sunburn, and some of it was rye, I expect, but he was glad to seeall of us. He patted Marjorie on the cheek, pinched Vee by the ear, andslapped Ferdie on the back so hearty he near knocked the breath out ofhim. So far as our genial host could make it, it was a gay and festivescene. Best of all too, I'd been put next to Vee, and I was just workin'up to exchangin' a hand squeeze under the tablecloth when, right in themiddle of one of Pa Pulsifer's best stories, there floats in through theopen windows a crash that makes everybody sit up. It sounds likebreakin' glass.

  "Hah!" snorts Pulsifer, scowlin' out into the dark. "Now what in blazeswas that?"

  "I--I think it must have been something in the kitchen, Dear," says Mrs.Pulsifer. "Don't mind."

  "But I do mind," says he. "In the first place, it wasn't in the kitchenat all, and if you'll all excuse me, I'll just see for myself."

  Meanwhile Edna has turned pale, Marjorie has almost choked herself witha bread stick, and Ferdie has let his fork clatter to the floor. MaPulsifer is bitin' her lip; but she's right there with the soothin'words.

  "Please, Dear," says she, "let me go. They want you to finish yourstory."

  It was a happy touch, that last. Pa Pulsifer recovers his napkin,settles back in his chair, and goes on with the tale, while Mother slipsout quiet. She comes back after a while, springs a nervous littlelaugh, and announces that it was only the glass in one of the hotbedframes.

  "Some stupid person taking a short cut across the grounds, I suppose,"says she.

  Didn't sound very convincin' to me; but Pulsifer had got started onanother boyhood anecdote, and he let it pass. I had a hunch, though,that Mrs. Pulsifer hadn't told all. I caught a glance between her andEdna, and some flashes between Edna and Vee, and I didn't need any sixthsense to feel that something was in the air.

  No move was made, though, until after coffee had been served in thelib'ry and Pa Pulsifer was fittin' his fav'rite Harry Lauder record onthe music machine.

  First Mrs. Pulsifer slips out easy. Next Edna follows her, and afterthem Marjorie and Vee, havin' exchanged some whispered remarks,disappears too. Maybe it was my play to stick it out with Ferdie and theold boy, but I couldn't see any percentage in that, with Vee gone; so Iwanders casual into the hall, butts around through the music room,follows a bright light at the rear, and am almost run down by Marjoriehurrying the other way sleuthy.

  "Oh!" she squeals. "It's you, is it, Torchy? S-s-s-sh!"

  "What you shushin' about?" says I.

  "Oh, it's dreadful!" puffs Marjorie. "He--he's come!"

  "That Gilkey guy?" says I.

  "Ye-e-es," says she. "But--but how did you know?"

  "I'm a seventh son, born with a cowlick," says I. "Was it Gilkey madehis entrance through the cucumber frame?"

  It was. Also he'd managed to cut himself in the ankles and right wrist.They had him in the kitchen, patchin' him up now, and they was allscared stiff for fear Pa Pulsifer would discover it before they couldsend him away.

  "He'll be a nut if he don't," says I, "with all you women out here. Yourgame is to chase back and keep Pulsifer interested."

  "I suppose you're right," says Marjorie. "Let's tell them."

  So I follows into the big kitchen, where I finds the disabled Romeopropped up in a chair, with the whole push of 'em, includin' the fatcook, a couple of maids, and the butler, all tryin' to bandage him indiff'rent spots. He's a big, gawky-lookin' young gent, with a thick cropof pale hair and a solemn, serious look on his face, like he was one ofthe kind that took everything hard. As soon as Marjorie gives 'em myhint about goin' back to Father there's a gen'ral protest.

  "Oh, I can't do it!" says Edna.

  "He would notice at once how nervous I am," groans Mrs. Pulsifer.

  "But you don't want him walking out here, do you?" demands Marjorie.

  That settled 'em. They bunched together panicky and started back for thelib'ry.

  "I'll stay and attend to the getaway," says I. "Nobody'll miss me."

  "Thank you," says Gilkey; "but I'm not sure I wish to go away. I came tosee Edna, you know."

  "So I hear," says I. "Unique idea of yours too, rollin' in the hotbedsfirst."

  "I--I was only trying to avoid meeting Mr. Pulsifer," says he;"exploring a bit, you see. I could hear voices in the dining-room; but Icouldn't quite look in. There was a little shed out there, though, andby climbing on that I could get a view. That was how I lost my balance."

  "Before you go callin' again," says I, "you ought to practice roostin'in the dark. Say, the old man must have thrown quite a scare into youlast time."

  "I am not afraid of Mr. Pulsifer, not a bit," says he.

  "Well, well!" says I. "Think of that!"

  "Anyway," says he, "I just wasn't goin' to be driven off that way.It--it isn't fair to either of us."

  "Then it's a clear case with both of you, is it?" says I.

  "We are engaged," says Gilkey, "and I don't care who knows it! It's nother money I'm after, either. We don't want a dollar from Mr. Pulsifer.We--we just want each other."

  "Now you're talkin'!" says I; for, honest, the simple, slushy way heputs it across sort of wins me. And if that was how the case stood, withEdna longin' for him, and him yearnin' for Edna, why shouldn't they? IfI'm any judge, Edna wouldn't find another right away who'd be so crazyabout her, and anyone who could discover charms about Gilkey ought to berewarded.

  "See here!" says I. "Why not sail right in there, look Father betweenthe eyes, and hand that line of dope out to him as straight as you gaveit to me?"

  He gawps at me a second, like I'd advised him to jump off the roof."Do--do you think I ought?" says he.

  I has to choke back a chuckle. Wanted my advice, did he? Well, say, Icould give him a truckload of that!

  "It depends," says I, "on how deep the yellow runs in you. Course it'sall right for you to register this leader about not bein' scared of him.You may think you a
in't, but you are all the same; and as long as you'rein that state you're licked. That's the big trouble with most ofus,--bein' limp in the spine. We're afraid of our jobs, afraid of whatthe neighbors will say, afraid of our stomachs, afraid of to-morrow. Andhere you are, prowlin' around on the outside, gettin' yourself messedup, and standin' to lose the one and only girl, all because an old stufflike Pulsifer says 'Boo!' at you and tells you to 'Scat!' Come on now,better let me lead you out and see you safe through the gate."

  Course that was proddin' him a little rough, but I wanted to bring thisthing to a head somehow. Made Gilkey squirm in his chair too. He beginsrollin' his trousers down over the bandages and struggles into his coat.

  "I suppose you're right," says he. "I--I think I will go in and see Mr.Pulsifer."

  "Wha-a-at?" says I. "Now?"

  "Why not?" says he, pushin' through the swing door.

  "Hey!" I calls out, jumpin' after him. "Better let me break it to 'em inthere."

  "As you please," says Gilkey; "only let's have no delay."

  So I skips across the hall and into the lib'ry, where they're all makin'a stab at bein' chatty and gay, with Pa Pulsifer in the center.

  "Excuse me," says I, "but there's a young gent wants a few words withMr. Pulsifer."

  "What's that?" growls Adam K., glarin' about suspicious at the gaspycircle. "What young man?"

  "Why," says I, "it's----" But then in he stalks.

  "Oh, Herbert!" sobs Edna, makin' a wild grab at Marjorie for support.

  As for Pa Pulsifer, his eyes get stary, the big vein in the middle ofhis forehead swells threatenin', and his bushy white eyebrows seem tobristle up.

  "You!" he snorts. "How did you get in here, Sir?"

  "Through the kitchen," says Gilkey. "I came to tell you that----"

  "Stop!" roars Pulsifer, stampin' his foot and bunchin' his fistsmenacin'. "You can't tell me anything, not a word, you--yougood-for-nothing young scoundrel! Haven't I warned you never to stepfoot in my house again? Didn't I tell you----"

  Well, it's the usual irate parent stuff, only a little more wild andranty than anything Belasco would put over. He abuses Gilkey up anddown, threatens him with all kinds of things, from arrest to suddendeath, and gets purple in the face doin' it. While Gilkey, he juststands there, takin' it calm and patient. Then, when there comes a lull,he remarks casual:

  "If that is all, Sir, I wish to say to you that Edna and I are engaged,and that I intend to marry her early next week."

  Wow! That's the cue for another explosion. It starts in just as fierceas the first; but it don't last so long, and towards the end Pa Pulsiferis talkin' husky and puffing hard.

  "Go!" he winds up. "Get out of my house before I--I----"

  "Oh, I say," breaks in Gilkey, "before you do what?"

  "Throw you out!" bellows Pulsifer.

  "Don't be absurd," says Gilkey, statin' it quiet and matter of fact."You couldn't, you know. Besides, it isn't being done."

  And it takes Pa Pulsifer a full minute before he can choke down histemper and get his wind again. Then he advances a step or so, pointsdramatic to the door, and gurgles throaty:

  "Will--you--get--out?"

  "No," says Gilkey. "I came to see Edna. I've had no dinner either, andI'd like a bite to eat."

  Pulsifer stood there, not two feet from him, glarin' and puffin', andtryin' to decide what to do next; but it's no use. He'd made his grandroarin' lion play, which had always scared the tar out of his folks, andhe'd responded to an encore. Yet here was this mild-eyed young gentwith the pale hair and the square jaw not even wabbly in the knees fromit.

  "Come, Edna," says Gilkey, holdin' out a hand to her. "Let's go into thedining-room."

  "But--but see here!" gasps Pa Pulsifer, makin' a final effort."I--I----"

  "Oh, hush up!" says Gilkey, turnin' away weary. "Come, Edna."

  And Edna, she went; also Mrs. Pulsifer; likewise Vee and Marjorie. Trustwomen for knowin' when a bluff has been called. I expect they was wise,two or three minutes before either me or Gilkey, that Pa Pulsifer wasbeat. I stayed long enough to see him slump into an easy-chair, hisunder lip limp and a puzzled look in his eyes, like he was tryin' tofigure out just what had hit him. And over by the fireplace is Ferdie,gawpin' at him foolish, and exercisin' his gears, I expect, on the sameproblem. Neither of them had said a word up to the time I left.

  It took the women half an hour or more to feed Herbert up proper withall the nice things they could drag from the icebox. Then MotherPulsifer patted him on the shoulder and shooed Edna and him through theFrench doors out on the veranda.

  And what do you guess is Mrs. Pulsifer's openin' as we drifts backtowards the scene of the late conflict?

  "Why, Deary!" says she. "You haven't your cigars, have you? Here theyare--and the matches. There! Now for the surprise. Our young people havedecided--that is, Edna has--not to be married until two weeks from nextWednesday."

  Does Pa Pulsifer rant any more rants? No. He gets his perfecto goin'nicely, blows a couple of smoke rings up towards the ceilin', and thenremarks in sort of a weak growl:

  "Hanged if I'll walk down a church aisle, Maria--hanged if I do!"

  "I told them you wouldn't," says Ma Pulsifer, smoothin' the hair backover his ears soothin'; "so they've agreed on a simple home wedding,with only four bridesmaids."

  "Huh!" says he. "It's lucky they did."

  But, say, take it from me, his days of crackin' the whip around thatjoint are over. I'm beginnin' to believe too how some of that dope I fedto Herbert must have been straight goods. Vee insists on talkin' it overlater, as we are camped in one of them swing seats out on the veranda.

  "Wasn't he just splendid," says she: "standing up to Mr. Pulsifer thatway, you know?"

  "Some hero!" says I. "I wonder would he give me a few lessons, in case Ishould run across your Aunty some day?"

  "Pooh!" says Vee. "Just as though I didn't go back to see if he'd goneand hear you putting him up to all that yourself! It was fine of you todo it too, Torchy."

  "Right here, then!" says I. "Place the laurel wreath right here."

  "Silly!" says she, givin' me a reprovin' pat. "Besides, that porch lightis on."

  Which was one of the reasons why I turned it off, and maybe accounts forour sudden break when Marjorie comes out to tell us it's near twelveo'clock.

  Yes, indeed, though he may not look it, Ferdie is more or less of ahelp.

  "Which was one of the reasons I turned the porch lightoff."]