CHAPTER XVII
A LITTLE SPEED ON THE HOME STRETCH
And, speakin' of thrills, what beats gettin' back to your own hometown? Why, say, that mornin' when we unloads from the _Agnes_ after awhole month of battin' around, New York looked to me like it had beentouched up with gold leaf and ruby paint. Things seemed so fresh andcrisp, and all so sort of natural and familiar. And the sounds and thesmells! It's all good.
Course, there wasn't any pelicans floatin' around in the North River,nor any cocoanut palms wavin' over West Thirty-fourth Street. As ourtaxis bumped us along, we dodged between coffee-colored heaps of slushthat had once been snow, and overhead all that waved in the breeze wasdingy blankets hung out on the fire-escapes. Also we finds Broadwayripped up in new spots, with the sewer pipes exposed jaunty.
But somehow them things are what you expect. And you feel that, afterall, there's only one reg'lar place on the map--here, where you caneither pay a nickel for a hot-dog breakfast off a pushcart, or blow inninety cents for a pair of yesterday's eggs in a Fifth Avenue grill:where you can see lovely lady plutesses roll by in their heliotropelimousines, or watch little Rosie Chianti sail down the asphalt on oneroller skate.
Uh-huh! It's a great place to get back to, take it from me. Speciallywhen you hit it like I did, a two-way winner with a full-sized portionof pirate loot, and Vee wearin' a ring of mine.
And maybe I didn't enjoy driftin' into the Corrugated general offices,with everybody, from fair-haired Vincent up to Mr. Robert, givin' methe glad hail. Some different, eh, from the first time I struck there,'way back in the early days? I was one of a bunch then, trailin' awant ad; and when Piddie had us lined up, it looked like I'd be only an"also ran" until Old Hickory pads past, discovered my pink thatch, andhas me signed on as office boy.
Different! Why, inside of two minutes I begun to believe I wassomebody. Vincent starts it when he swings the brass gate wide, justas I used to do for bank presidents.
"Good morning, sir," says he. "Glad to see you back, sir."
"Vincent," says I, "there's two of us, then; only I'm glad all over."
I hadn't counted on that row of lady typists, either. Honest, I neverfaced such a battery of friendly smiles in all my more or less cheerfulcareer. Even Miss Muggs, who wears a business face that would have ahead undertaker lookin' frivolous, loosens up her mouth corners for asecond; while as for some of the other self-startin' queens--well, theyhad me rosy in the ears, all right. I hurries past to where Mr. Piddieis tryin' to make his ingrowin' dignity let loose its grip for a minute.
"Ah!" says he. "Back from the sunny South, eh? And how did you findFlorida?"
"Easy," says I. "We looked it up on the map."
"No, no," says Piddie; "I mean, how was the weather down there?"
"No weather at all," says I. "They just have climate. How are thingsaround the shop, though?"
"Very satisfactory," says Piddie, rubbin' his hands.
"Bound to be," says I, "with you and Mr. Robert sittin' on the lid."
With which soothin' josh and a pat on the shoulder, I slips throughinto the private office, where Mr. Robert sits puffin' a cigaretteplacid in front of a heaped-up desk. When he sees me, he grins.
"Well, well!" says he, shovin' out the cordial palm. "So the treasureseekers have returned, have they?" And he chuckles.
"Uh-huh!" says I, doin' a little grin on my own account.
"At least," he goes on, "you have a fine tropical complexion to showfor your trip. Little else, I presume?"
"Brace yourself, Mr. Robert," says I, "for you got a jolt comin'."
"Why," says he, "you can't mean that--"
I nods.
"Rupert had the right dope," says I. "It was just where he said itwas--jewels and everything. Why, say, we got enough to stock amuseum--sacks full."
"Oh, I say, Torchy!" says he, after starin' at me a second. "What'sthe sense?"
"I don't claim there's any sense to it," says I. "It was the simpleststunt you ever saw. We just went and dug, that's all. But there wasthe stuff. And we got away with it. You might's well get used tobelieving though, for I'm applyin' right now for a block of Corrugatedpreferred. That's what I'm goin' to soak my share into."
"Your share?" says he. "But I didn't understand that you--"
"Vee and I helped locate the treasure mound," I explains, "and gotcounted in just in time. And say, the best is yet to come. It's goin'to be Vee and me for keeps pretty soon."
"Wha-a-at!" says he. "You've won over Auntie?"
"Right and regular," says I. "Vee's wearin' the ring."
Say, Mr. Robert's got a grip on him when he gets real enthusiastic. Icould feel it in my fingers for hours after. Then he had to call inPiddie and tell him, and by noon the word has been passed all throughthe offices. I expect it started modest, but by the time it got tothat bunch of young hicks in the bond room they had it that I was goingto marry a Newport heiress, resign from the Corrugated, and live abroad.
"In some swell Scotch castle, I suppose?" one of 'em asks.
"Unless I can rent Buckingham Palace," says I. "Say, it's a wonder youboys would let anybody feed you a chunk like that! Newport heiress beblowed! She's just a nice New York girl, one I've known four or fiveyears; and when it comes to settlin' down we'll most likely look forthree rooms on the top floor with a two-by-four bath and a foldin'kitchenette. I'll be satisfied at that, though."
It's a great state of mind to be in. I hope I didn't look as foolishas I felt. If I had I guess they'd have had most of my private seccinggone over careful. But nobody seemed to suspect how giddy I was in thehead. I goes caromin' around, swappin' smiles with perfect strangersand actin' like I thought life was just a continuous picnic, with nodishes to wash afterwards.
Course, my reg'lar evenin' program is to doll up after dinner and droparound. I'll admit Auntie hadn't issued any standin' invitation, butif Vee was expectin' me that's enough. And she was. We went to showssome, or took walks up the Drive, or just sat in the window nook andindulged in merry conversation. Once we had a whale of a time, whenMr. Robert gives a perfectly good dinner dance for us. Oh, the realthing--Cupid place-cards, a floral centerpiece representin' twinhearts, and all that sort of stuff. I begun to feel as if it was allover but the shoutin'. Even got to scoutin' around at odd times,pricin' small apartments and gazin' into furniture store windows.
And then-- Well, it was just a little chat Auntie has over the 'phonethat takes most of the joy out of life. I didn't notice what she wassayin' at first, bein' busy tryin' to draw out the floor plan of a cutefour-room affair I'd inspected recent. All of a sudden, though, Ipricks up my ears.
"But it's so hot in Jamaica," Auntie is tellin' this friend ofhers--"that is, unless one goes to Montego Bay, and the hotel there--Oh, Newcastle? Yes, that is delightful, but-- Can one, really? Anarmy officer's villa! That would be ideal, up there in the mountains.And Jamaica always routs my rheumatism. For three months? When can weget a good steamer? The tenth. That would give us time. Well, Ithink we shall join you. Let me sleep on it. I'll call you about noonto-morrow? Good-by."
Meanwhile Vee and I are gazin' blank at each other. We don't need anydiagram to understand what Auntie is up to. Just one of her oldtricks--a speedy packin' up and a casual getaway for Jamaica. Say,wouldn't that crack your faith in human nature? And she proceeds toannounce her scheme as placid as if it was something she'd thought outspecial for our benefit.
"Excuse me," says I, "but you ain't plannin' on Vee's goin' along, too,are you?"
"Why, certainly," says she. "Verona could not stay here alone. And atthis season the mountains of Jamaica are--"
"It's utterly stupid at Newcastle," breaks in Vee. "Nothing but a lotof black soldiers, and a few fat English officers, and seeing the samedozen people at teas three times a week."
"Besides," I puts in, "it would be a long jump for me to run down forover Sunday, wouldn't it?"
"How unre
asonable of you both," says Auntie. "Now, you young peoplehave been together a great deal of late. You can well afford to beseparated for a few months."
I goes choky in the throat. There was a lot of points I wanted tomake, but I couldn't seem to state 'em fast enough. All I can get outis: "But--but see here; we--we was sort of plannin' to--to be--"
"Nonsense!" cuts in Auntie. "You are hardly more than children, eitherof you. It's absurd enough of you becoming engaged. But beyond that--Oh, not for years and years."
Oh, yes, there was a lot more to the debate--on our side. I registeredstrong, with some cuttin' remark about bein' treated like a scrap ofpaper. As for Auntie, she simply stands pat. "Not for years andyears." That's where her argument begins and ends. Not that she'smessy about it, or intends to be mean. She simply don't take ourlittle plans serious. They don't count.
"There, there!" says she. "We'll say no more about it," and sails offto sort out the dresses she'll want to stow in her trunk.
"Huh!" says I, glancin' at Vee. "Merry idea of hers, eh? Years andyears! Talks like she thought gettin' married was some game likeissuin' long-term bonds maturin' about 1950."
"If you only knew how stupid and dull it's going to be for me there!"says Vee, poutin'.
"With you that far off," says I, "New York ain't goin' to seem so gayfor a certain party."
"I suppose I must go, though," says Vee.
"I don't get it," says I.
"Oh, but I must," says she.
Durin' the next week we talked it over a lot; but, so far as I canremember, we only said about the same thing. It came out that thisfriend of Auntie's was one that Vee never could stand for, anyway: agiddy old dame who kalsomined her face, was free with advice onbringin' up nieces, and was a bridge and embroidery fiend.
"And I shall be left to sit around," says Vee, "bored stiff."
I knew it wasn't just a whim of hers; for one evening along towards thelast, I found her with her eyelids red.
"Been cryin'?" I asks.
"A little," says Vee. "Silly thing to do when one's packing."
"See here, Vee," says I; "I ought to be doing something about this."
"But you can't," says she. "No one can. I must trot along withAuntie, just as I always have, and stay until--until she's ready tocome back."
"Then it'll be a case of movin' on somewhere for the summer, Iexpect--Nova Scotia or Iceland?" says I.
Vee nods and lets out a sigh.
"If we was a pair of wild ducks, now," says I.
At which she snickers kind of hysterical and--well, it's the first timeI ever knew her to do the sob act. Also I'd never been quite surebefore that I was much more to her than sort of an amusin' pal. Butwhen she grips me around the neck that way, and snuggles her head ofstraw-colored hair down on my necktie, and just naturally cuts loosefor a good cry--say, then I knew.
"Then she grips me around the neck, and snuggles herhead down on my necktie--say, then I knew."]
I knew it was to be me and Vee from then on. I ain't givin' it anyfancy name. We ain't either of us the mushy kind, I hope. But I feltthat she needed me to stand by, that I could be of some use. That wasthrillin' and wonderful enough for me. And as I folded her in gentleand let her turn the sprinkler on a brand-new plaid silk scarf that I'djust put up a dollar for, I set my jaw firm and says to myself,"Torchy, here's where you quit the youths' department for good. Intothe men's section for you, and see that you act the part."
"Vee," I whispers, "leave it to me. I didn't know just where I stoodbefore. But I'm out of the trance now, and I'm set for action. Leaveit to me."
"All right, Torchy," says she a bit choky, but tryin' to work up asmile. "You can do nothing, though."
Couldn't I? Maybe not. I was out to make a stab, anyway. There was acouple of days left before the steamer sailed, and I'd just passed aresolution that Vee was to stay behind. Beyond that my program wasvague. After I'd walked a dozen blocks it begun to get clearer. Myfirst stop was at the Ellins house; and when I'd succeeded inconvincin' the new butler that it was no good tryin' to stall me off,I'm led into the lib'ry, where Old Hickory is sittin' in front of thebig marble fireplace, half way through his second cigar. What I putsup to him is when I can realize on my share of the pirate loot.
"Why," says he, "the dealers haven't made a report as yet, but if youwish an advance I should be happy to--"
"To-morrow?" says I.
"Certainly," says he. "Say five thousand--ten--"
"Make it five," says I. "May I call up Mr. Robert from here?"
Mrs. Robert Ellins tells me this is his night at the club, so all I hasto do is hop a Fifth Avenue stage, and in less'n twenty minutes he'sbroke away from his billiard game and is listenin' while I state thesituation to him.
"Course," says I, "it would bump Auntie some, but seems to me it'scomin' to her."
"Quite a reasonable conclusion," says he.
"It ain't as if she needed Vee," I goes on. "She's just got in thehabit of havin' her 'round. That might be all right, too, if shedidn't have the travel bug so bad. But with her keepin' on the wing soconstant-- Well, I'm no bloomin' sea-gull. And when you're engaged,this long-distance stuff ought to be ruled out. It's got to be."
"The way you suggest ought to accomplish that," says Mr. Robert.
"What sticks me is where to camp down afterwards," says I. "I've beenlookin' around some, but--"
"By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, slappin' his knee. "Who was it that wasbothering me just after dinner? Waddy Crane! He's been pretending tobe an artist, you know; but now he's got hold of his money, it's alloff. He's going to start a bandbox theater in Chicago, elevate thedrama, all that sort of thing. And that studio apartment of his up inthe Fifties would be the very thing for you two. Wants to unload thelease and furnishings. Oh, Waddy has excellent taste in rugs and oldmahogany. And it will be a rare bargain; I shall see to that. What doyou say?"
Bein' in the plungin' mood, I said I'd take a chance.
"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "I'll have it all arranged before midnight.But when and where does the--er--affair come off?"
"I'm just plottin' that out," says I. "Could I sort of count on youand Mrs. Ellins for to-morrow evenin', say?"
"At your service," says Mr. Robert.
"Then I'll think up a place and see if I can pull it," says I.
If it hadn't been for that little detail of visitin' the license bureauI wouldn't have sprung it on Vee until the last minute. As it is, Ihas to toll her downtown with a bid to luncheon, and then I suggestsvisitin' City Hall. She's wise in a minute, too.
"It's no use, Torchy," says she. "I've promised Auntie that, whateverelse I did, I would never run away to be married."
And there my grand little scheme is shot full of holes, all in asecond. When I get headway on like I had then, though, I just don'tknow when I'm blocked. I swallows hard once or twice, and then shrugsmy shoulders.
"Let's get the license, anyway," says I.
"What's the sense?" asks Vee.
"I can have it to read over, can't I?" says I. "That'll help some.Besides-- Ah, come on, Vee! Be a sport. Didn't you say you'd leaveit to me?"
"But I can't break my promise, Torchy," says she.
"That's right," says I, "and I wouldn't ask you to. Let's take thesubway."
I won; and when I put her in a taxi an hour later she was stillblushin' from answerin' questions. I had that paper with the city sealon it in my inside pocket, though. My next job is on the ReverendPercey, the one who did the job for Mr. Robert the time I stage-managedhis impromptu knot-tyin'. Course, I couldn't sign him up for anythingdefinite, but I got a schedule of his spare time from six o'clock on,and where he would be.
"But I--I don't quite understand," says he, starin' puzzled through hisglasses. "You say you are uncertain whether my services will be--"
"Now listen, Percey," says I. "I'm the most uncertain party at thepresent writing that you ever saw. But if I
should 'phone, I want youto answer the call like a deputy chief goin' to a third alarm. Getthat? And I'm payin' time and a half for every minute after dark.See?"
Maybe that wasn't just the way to hire a reverend, but I was too rushedto think up the proper frills. I had to attend to a lot of littlethings, among 'em bein' this plant with Auntie's cruisin' friend, thewidow. She was in the habit, Mrs. Mumford was, of pickin' Auntie upnow and then for an evenin' drive in her limousine; and what I wastryin' to suggest was that this would be a swell night for it.
"But I don't see how I can," says she, cooin' as usual. "Mrs.Hemmingway is to be a guest at a going-away dinner, and may not be homeuntil late."
"Eh?" says I. "Why, that's fine--I mean, for Auntie. Ripping, eh,what? Much obliged."
The foxy old girl. She'd never mentioned it. And if I hadn't foundout just as I-- But I did. It simplifies things a lot. That is, itwould unless-- Here I grabs the 'phone again and calls up Vee.
"Auntie's going out to dinner to-night," says I.
"Yes, I know," says Vee. "She has just told me. I am not included."
"Then whisper," says I. "Revise that wardrobe trunk of yours like youexpected a cold winter in Jamaica. Have a bag ready, too, and atraveling dress handy."
"But why, Torchy?" she insists.
"Leave it to me," says I. "We'll be up about 8:30."
"We?" she asks.
"Now be good," says I, "and you may be happy. Also get busy."
You see, I figured that what she didn't know she couldn't worry about,nor discuss with Auntie. Besides, it was all too hazy in my head forme to sketch it out very clear to anyone.
Honest, I don't see now how I kept from gettin' things bugged, for Isure was crashin' ahead reckless. I felt like I'd been monkeyin' witha flyin' machine until I'd got it started and had been caught somewherein the riggin' with nobody at the wheel. But I was glad of it.
Mr. Robert helped out wonderful. When I stops packin' my suitcase longenough to remark, "But say, if it does work, where am I headed for?"he's right there with the useful information.
"Here!" says he. "Your tickets and drawing-room reservation. It's anice little place up in Vermont--quiet, refined, comfortable, all thatsort of thing. Train at 10:45."
"Oh!" says I. "Then that's all right. Lemme see, where's that othersock?"
Say, I'd even forgot who all I'd asked to be on hand. That was what Iwas checkin' up when I rode past Auntie's floor on the elevator. Ifinds Vee some excited and more or less curious.
"Please," says she, "what is it all about?"
"It's a little game," says I, "entitled ditching Jamaica. There'll besome of our friends here directly to join in."
"Torchy," says Vee, starin' a bit scared, "you--you mean that-- Anyway,I should change my frock, I suppose?"
"If you do," says I, "couldn't you make it that pink one, with theflimsy pink hat?"
"You goose!" says she. "If you like, though. Why, there is someonenow!"
"That'll be Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins," says I. "You'll have to showspeed."
Trust Vee. Just the' same, I don't know where there's another girlthat could dress for the big event in less'n half an hour, while theguests was arrivin'. Next came Mr. Robert's sister, Marjorie, towin'her Ferdie along. Aunt Zenobia and my Uncle Kyrle and Aunt Marthabreezed in soon after, with Old Hickory and Mrs. Ellins right behind'em. Then Piddie, who'd put on his evenin' clothes over in Jersey at5:30 and had been on the trolley most of the time since.
No, it wasn't a big mob, but it was a heap better than havin' someConnecticut parson call in wifie and the hired girl, as I'd firstplanned it.
And prompt at 9:30 the Reverend Percey shows up, some out of breathfrom his dash across from the subway, but ready to shoot his lines assoon as he got his hat off. While he didn't quite have to do that, wedidn't waste much time on settin' the stage.
"Come on, Vee," says I, takin' her by the hand. "How about over therein our old window alcove, eh? Tum tum-te-tum!"
She holds back just a second. Then she tosses her chin up, smilesbrave at me, and gives my fingers a squeeze. Say, she's some girl.
Another minute and the Reverend Percey is off with a flyin' start. Heain't so husky to look at, but he booms out the "Wilt-thou" stuff realimpressive and solemn, part of the time peekin' over his glasses at thefolks behind, and then lookin' earnest at us. For an off-handperformance I call it a good job. And almost before I knew it wasunder way it's all over.
"Well, Vee," says I, plantin' a smack in the right place, "we've doneit!"
"I--I wish Auntie knew," says she.
"But she does," says Mr. Robert. "At Torchy's request I have justcalled her up. She will be here in less than half an hour."
"With her blessin'--or what?" I asks.
"As to that," says Mr. Robert, "I am not informed."
Anyway, we had time to brace ourselves. Vee had only finished changingand the bags was bein' sent down to the taxi when in she comes.
"Young man--" she begins.
But I heads her off.
"Why, Auntie!" says I, lettin' on to be surprised, and holdin' out bothhands. "You don't know how we missed you. Honest! All my fault,though. But say, with your stickin' to that years-and-years idea, whatelse could we do--I ask you?"
And then I notices that them straight-cut mouth corners of hers ain'tset near so hard as I thought. Her eyes ain't throwin' off sparks,either. They're sort of dewy, in fact. And when she does speak againthere's a break in her voice.
"Come," says she, beckonin' us up. "Perhaps you know best, after all,you silly children."
I'll bet we made a fine group, too, the three of us, Auntie in themiddle, givin' us the fond clinch.
"But such impudence of you, to do it right here!" she goes on. "No onebut you, Torchy, would have thought of that."
"Had to," says I, "with everything else barred. I suspected it mightbump you some, but--"
"Pardon me," breaks in Mr. Robert, "but it's time for you to start foryour train."
"Train!" says Vee. "Torchy, where are we going?"
"Just a sec.," says I, "till I look at the tickets."
So the last I heard from Auntie was a gasp.
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