Wilt Thou Torchy

  CHAPTER III

  TORCHY HANDS OUT A SPILL

  Maybe I've indulged, now and then, in a few remarks on Auntie. But,say, there's no danger of exhaustin' the subject--not a chance. Forshe's some complicated old girl, take it from me. First off, there'sthat stick-around disposition of hers. Now, I expect that justnaturally grew on her, same as my pink thatch did on me. She can'thelp it; and what's the use blamin' her for it?

  So, when I drop in for my reg'lar Wednesday and Sunday night calls, themain object of the expedition being to swap a little friendly chatterwith Vee, and I find Auntie planted prominent and permanent in thesittin'-room, why, I just grins and makes the best of it.

  A patient and consistent sitter-out, Auntie is. And you know that faceof hers ain't exactly the chirky sort. Don't encourage you to getchummy, or tip her the confidential wink, or chuck her under the chin.Nothing like that--no.

  Not a regular battle-ax, you understand. For all that, she ain't sucha bad-lookin' old dame, when you get her in a dim light. Though theexpression she generally favors me with, while it ain't so near assaultand battery as it used to be, wouldn't take the place of two lumps in acup of tea.

  But you kind of get used to that acetic acid stuff after a while; and,since I'm announced by a reg'lar name now--"Meestir Beel-lard" isHelma's best stab at Ballard--and Auntie knowin' that I got a perfectlygood uncle behind me, besides bein' a private sec. myself, why, shedon't mean more'n half of it.

  Besides, even with her sittin' right there in the room, there's a lotdoin' that she ain't in on. Trust Vee. Say, she can drum outclassical stuff on the piano and fire a snappy line of repartee at meall the while, just loud enough for me to catch and no more, withoutbattin' an eye. Say, I'm gettin' quite a musical education, justhelpin' to stall off Auntie that way. And you should see the cuteschemes Vee puts over--settin' a framed photo so it throws the light inthe old girl's eyes, or shiftin' our chairs so she has to stretch herneck to keep track of us.

  Makes an evenin' call quite an excitin' game; and when we work in a fewminutes of hand-holdin', or I get away with a hasty clinch, why, thatscores for our side. So, for a personally conducted affair, it ain'tso poor. I'm missin' no dates, I notice. And tuck this away; if itwas a case of Vee and a whole squad of aunts, or an uninterruptedtwo-some with one of these nobody-home dolls, I'd pick Vee and thegallery. Uh-huh! I'm just that good to myself.

  All was goin' along smooth and merry, too, until one Wednesday night Idiscovers another lid ahead of mine on the hall table. It's a glossysilk tile, with a pair of gray castor gloves folded neat alongside.Seein' which I reaches past Helma for the silver card-tray.

  "Huh!" says I under my breath. "Now, who the giddy gallowampuses isClyde Creighton?"

  "Vair nice gentlemans, Meester Creeton," whispers Helma.

  "I know," says I; "you're judgin' by the hat."

  She springs that silly grin of hers, as usual. No matter what I say,it gets open-faced motions out of Helma. But I really wasn't feelin'so humorous. Whoever he was, this Creighton guy had come the wrongevenin'. Course, I judged it must be Vee he's callin' on, and I wasn'tstrong for a three-handed session just then. There was somethingspecial I wanted to talk over with Vee this particular evenin', and Icouldn't see why--

  But, my first glimpse of Clyde soothes me down a lot. He has curlygray hair, also a mustache that's well frosted up. He's a tall, slimbuilt party, with a wide black ribbon to tie him to his eyeglasses.Seems to be entertainin' Auntie.

  "Ah!" says he, inspectin' me casual over the shell rims. "Mr.Ballard?" And, with a skimpy little nod, he turns back to Auntie andgoes on where he broke off, leavin' me to shake hands with myself if Iwanted to.

  I expect it served me right, cuttin' in abrupt on such a highbrowconversation as that. Something about the pre-Raphael tendencies ofthe Barbizon school, I think.

  Culture! Say, if I'm any judge, Claude was battin' about 400. Itfairly dripped from him. Talk about broad o's--he spilled 'em easy andnatural, a font to a galley; and he couldn't any more miss the final gthan a telephone girl would overlook rollin' her r's. And suchgraceful gestures with the shell-rimmed glasses, wavin' 'em the wholelength of the ribbon when he got real interested.

  I don't think I ever saw Auntie come so near beamin' before. She seemsright at home, fieldin' that line of chat. And Vee, too, is more orless under the spell. As for me, I'm on the outside lookin' in. I didmanage though, after doin' the dummy act for half an hour, to lead Veeoff to the window alcove and get in a few words.

  "I don't think I ever saw Auntie come so near beamin'before. She seems right at home, fieldin' that line of chat. And Vee,too, is more or less under the spell."]

  "Who's the professor?" says I.

  "Why, he isn't a professor," says Vee.

  "He's got the patter," says I. "Old friend of Auntie's, I take it?"

  No, it wasn't quite that. Seems the late Mrs. Creighton had been achum of Auntie's 'way back when they was girls, and the fact had onlybeen discovered when Clyde and Auntie got together a few days before atsome studio tea doins'.

  "About how late was the late Mrs. C. C.?" says I.

  "Oh, he has been a widower for several years, I think," says Vee."Poor man! Isn't he distinguished-looking?"

  "Ye-e-es," says I. "A bit stagey."

  "How absurd!" says she. "Isn't it fascinating to hear him talk?"

  "Reg'lar paralyzin'," says I. "I was gettin' numb from the knees down."

  "Silly!" says Vee, givin' me a reprovin' pat. "Do be quiet; he istelling Auntie about his wife now."

  Yep, he was. Doin' it beautiful too, sayin' what a lovely charactershe had, how congenial they was, and what an inspiration she'd been tohim in his career.

  "Indeed," he goes on, "if it had not been for the gentle influence ofmy beloved Alicia, I should not be what I am to-day."

  "Say," I whispers, nudgin' Vee, "what is he to-day?"

  "Why," says she, "why--er--I don't quite know. He collects antiques,for one thing."

  "Does he?" says I. "Then maybe he's after Auntie."

  First off Vee snickers, after which she lets on to be peeved andproceeds to rumple my hair. Clyde catches her at it too, and lookssort of pained. But Auntie's too much interested in the reminiscencesto notice. Yes, there's no discountin' the fact that the old girl wasfallin' for him hard.

  Not that we thought much about it at that time. But later on, when Ifinds he's been droppin' in for tea, been there for dinner Saturday,and has beat me to it again Sunday evenin', I begins to sproutsuspicions.

  "He seems to be gettin' the habit, eh?" I suggests to Vee.

  She don't deny it.

  "Who's doin' the rushin'," says I, "him or Auntie?"

  Vee shrugs her shoulders. "He came around to-night," says she, "toshow Auntie some miniatures of the late Alicia. She asked to see them.Look! They are examining one now."

  Sure enough they were, with their heads close together. And Auntie ispattin' him soothin' on the arm.

  "Kind of kittenish motions, if you ask me," says I. "She's gazin' athim mushy, too."

  "I never knew Auntie to be quite so absurd," says Vee.

  "Say," I whispers, "how about givin' 'em a sample of the butt-in act,so they'll know how it seems?"

  Vee smothers a giggle.

  "Let's!" says she.

  So we leaves the alcove and crashes in on this close-harmony duet. Veehas to see the miniatures of Alicia, and she has to show 'em to me.Also we pulls up chairs and sits there, listenin' with our mouths open,right in the midst of things.

  Auntie does her best to shunt us, too.

  "Verona," says she, "why don't you and Torchy get out the chafing-dishand make some of that delicious maple fudge you are so fond of."

  "Why, Aunty!" says Vee. "When you know I've stopped eating candy for amonth."

  "You might play something for him," is Auntie's next suggestion. "Thatnew chanson."

  "But we'd much rather listen to yo
u and Mr. Creighton," says Vee."Hadn't we, Torchy?"

  "Uh-huh," says I.

  "Quite flattering, I'm sure," puts in Clyde, smilin' sarcastic, whileAuntie shoots a doubtful look at me.

  But we hung around just the same, and before ten o'clock Creightonannounces that he must really be going.

  "Me too," says I, cheerful. "I'll ride down with you if you don'tmind."

  "Oh, charmed!" says Clyde.

  It wasn't that I was so strong for his comp'ny, but I'd just annexedthe idea that it might be a good hunch to get a little line on exactlywho this Mr. Clyde Creighton was. Vee don't seem to know anything verydefinite about him, outside of the Alicia incident; and it struck methat if there was a prospect of havin' him in the fam'ly, as it were,someone ought to see his credentials. Anyway, it wouldn't do any harmto pump him a bit.

  "Pardon me for changing my mind," says Clyde, as we hits the sidewalk,"but I think I prefer to walk downtown."

  "Just what I was goin' to spring on you," says I. "Fine evenin' for alittle thirty-block saunter, too. Let's see, the Plutoria's whereyou're staying ain't it?"

  "Why--er--yes," says he, hesitatin'.

  I couldn't make out why he should choke over it, for I'd heard him saydistinctly he was livin' there. But it was amazin' what an effect thenight air had on his conversation works. Seemed to dry 'em up.

  "Interested in antiques, are you?" says I, sort of folksy.

  "Somewhat," says Clyde, steppin' out brisk.

  "Odd line," says I. "Now, I could never see much percentage in havin'grandfathers' clocks and old spinning-wheels and such junk around."

  "Really," says he.

  "One of your fads, I expect?" says I.

  "M-m-m," says he.

  "Shouldn't think you'd find room in a hotel for such stuff," I goes on,doin' a hop-skip across a curb, "or do you have another joint, too?"

  "Quite so," says he. "Studio."

  "Oh!" says I. "Whereabouts?"

  "In town," says he.

  "Yes, most of 'em are," says I. "But I expect you'll be gettin'married again some of these days and settin' up a reg'lar home, eh?"

  He stops short and gives me a stare.

  "If I feel the need of discussing the project," says he, "I shallremember that you are available."

  "Oh, don't mention it," says I.

  Somehow, I didn't tap Clyde for so much real information. In fact, ifI'd been at all touchy I might have worked up the notion that I wasbein' snubbed.

  I keeps step with Mr. Creighton clear to his hotel, where he swings inthe Fifth Avenue entrance without wastin' any breath over fond adieus.I can't say why I didn't go on home then, instead of hangin' upoutside. Maybe it was because the sidewalk taxi agent had sort of afamiliar look, or perhaps I had an idea I was bein' sleuthy.

  Must have been four or five minutes I'd been standin' there, starin' atthe entrance, when out through the revolvin' door breezes Clyde,puffin' a cigarette and swingin' his walkin'-stick jaunty. He don'tspot me until he's about to brush by, and then he stops short.

  "Forgot something?" I suggests.

  "Ah--er--evidently," says he, and whirls and marches back into thehotel.

  "Huh!" says I, indicatin' nothin' much.

  "Where to, sir?" says someone at my elbow.

  It's the taxi agent, who has drifted up and mistaken me for a foolishguest.

  Kind of a throaty, husky voice he has, that you wouldn't forget easy;and I knew them aeroplane ears of his couldn't be duplicated.

  "Why, hello, Loppy!" says I. "How long since you quit runnin' copy inthe Sunday room?"

  "Well, blow me!" says he. "Torchy, eh?"

  That's what comes of havin' been in the newspaper business once. Younever know when you're going to run across one of the old crowd. I cutshort the reunion, though, to ask about Creighton.

  "The swell in the silk lid I just had words with," says I.

  "Don't place him," says Loppy. "Never turned a flag for him, anyway.Why?"

  "Oh, I'd kind of like to get a sketch of him," says I.

  "That's easy," says Loppy. "Remember Scanlon, that used to be doormanat Headquarters?"

  "Squint?" says I.

  "Same one," says he. "Well, he's inside--one of the house detectivesquad. His night on, too. And say, if your man's one that hangs outhere you can bank on Squint to give you the story of his life. Juststep in and send a bell-hop after Squint. Say I want him."

  And inside of two minutes we had Squint with us. He remembers me too,and when he finds I'm an old friend of Whitey Weeks he opens up.

  "Yes, I've seen that party around more or less," says he. "Creighton,eh? Well, he's no guest. Yes, I'm sure he don't room here. He justblew through the north exit. What's his line?"

  "Antiques, he says," says I.

  "Oh, sure!" says Squint. "Now I have him located. He's a free-lunchhitter; I remember one of the barkeeps grouching about him. But say,if you're after full details you ought to have a talk with ColonelBrassle. He knows him. And the Colonel ought to be strolling in fromthe Army and Navy Club soon. Want to wait?"

  "Long as I've started this thing, I might as well stay with it," says I.

  Yep, I waits for the Colonel. Some enthusiastic describer, ColonelBrassle is, when he gets going. It was near 1 A.M. when I finallytears myself away; but I'm loaded up with enough facts about Creightonto fill a book. And few of 'em was what you might call complimentaryto Clyde. For one thing, his dear Alicia hadn't found him as inspirin'as he had her. Anyway, she'd complained a lot about his hang-overdisposition, and finally quit him for good five or six years before shepassed on. Also, Clyde was no plute. He was existin' chiefly on bluffat present, and that studio of his was a rear loft over adelivery-truck garage down off Sixth Avenue. Then, there was otheritems just as interestin'.

  But how I was goin' to get it all on record for Auntie I couldn't quitedope out. Anyway, there was no grand rush; it would keep. So I justlets things slide for a day or so. Maybe next Wednesday evenin' I'dhave a chance to throw out a hint.

  Then, here Tuesday afternoon I gets this trouble call from Vee. She'sout at the corner drug store on the 'phone.

  "It's about Auntie," says she. "She is acting so queerly."

  "Any more so than usual?" I asks.

  "She is going somewhere, and she hasn't told me a word about it," saysVee. "I found her traveling-bag, all packed, hidden under thehall-seat."

  "The old cut-up!" says I. "What about Creighton--he been aroundlately?"

  "Every afternoon and evening," says Vee. "He's to take her to aconcert somewhere this evening. I'm not asked."

  "Shows his poor taste," says I. "He's due there about eight o'clock,eh?"

  "Seven-thirty," says Vee. "But I don't know what to think, Torchy--thetraveling-bag and--"

  "Don't bother a bit, Vee," says I. "Leave it to me. If it's Clyde atthe bottom of this, I've as good as got him spiked to the track. LetAuntie pack her trunk if she wants to, and don't say a word. Give thegiddy old thing a chance. It'll be all the merrier afterwards."

  "But--but I don't understand."

  "Me either," says I. "I'm a grand little guesser, though. And I'll beoutside, in ambush for Clyde, from seven o'clock on."

  "Will you?" says Vee,' sighin' relieved. "But do be careful, Torchy.Don't--don't be reckless."

  "Pooh!" says I. "That's my middle name. If I get slapped on the wristand perish from it, you'll know it was all for you."

  Course, it would have been more heroic if Clyde hadn't been such aladylike gent. As it is, he's about as terrifyin' as a white poodle.So I'm still breathin' calm and reg'lar when I sees him rollin' up in acab about seven-twenty-five. I'm at the curb before he can open thetaxi door.

  "Sorry," says I, "but I'm afraid it's all off."

  "Eh?" says he, gawpin' at me.

  "And you with your suit-case all packed too," says I. "How provokin'!But they're apt to change their minds, you know."

  "Do you
mean," says he, "that--er--ah--"

  "Something like that," I breaks in. "Anyway, you can judge. For, thefact is, some busybody has been gossipin' about your little trick ofbawlin' out Alicia over the coffee and rolls and draggin' her round bythe hair."

  "Wha-a-at?" he gasps.

  "You didn't mention the divorce, did you?" I goes on. "Nor go intodetails about your antique business? That Marie Antoinettedressin'-table game of yours, for instance. You know there is such athing as floodin' the market with genuine Connecticut-made relics likethat."

  Gets him white about the gills, this jab does.

  "Puppy!" he hisses out. "Do you insinuate that--"

  "Not me," says I. "I'm too polite. But when you unload duplicates ofthe late Oliver Cromwell's writing-desk you ought to see that bothdon't go to friends of Colonel Brassle. Messy old party, the Colonel,and I understand he's tryin' to induce 'em to make trouble. Course,you might explain all that to Auntie; but in her present state ofmind-- Eh? Must you be goin'? Any word to send up? Shall I tell herthis wilt-thou date is postponed to--"

  "Bah!" says Clyde, bangin' the taxi door shut and signalin' thechauffeur to get under way. I think I saw him shakin' his fist back atme as he drives off. So rough of him!

  Upstairs I finds Auntie all in a flutter and tryin' to hide it. Veelooks at me inquirin' and anxious, but I chats on for a while just asif nothing had happened. Somehow, I was enjoyin' watchin' Auntiesquirm. My mistake was in forgettin' that Vee was fidgety, too. Nosooner has Auntie left the room, to send Helma scoutin' down to thefront door, than I'm reminded.

  "Ouch!" says I. Vee sure can pinch when she tries. I decides toreport.

  "Oh; by the way," says I, as Auntie comes back, "I just ran across Mr.Creighton."

  "Yes?" says Auntie eager.

  "He wasn't feelin' quite himself," says I. "Sudden attack of somethingor other. He didn't say exactly. But I expect that concert excursionis scratched."

  "Scratched!" says Auntie, lookin' dazed.

  "Canceled," says I. "Anyway, he went off in a hurry."

  "But--but he-was to have--" And there she stops.

  "I know," says I. "Maybe he'll explain later, though."

  No wonder she was dizzy from it, and it's quite natural that soon aftershe felt one of her bad headaches comin' on. So Vee and Helma got busyat once. After they'd tucked her away with the ice-bag and thesmellin'-salts, she asked to be let alone; so durin' the next half hourI had a chance to tell Vee all about Creighton and his career.

  "But he did seem so refined!" says Vee.

  "Yon got to be," says I, "to deal in fake antiques. His mistake was intacklin' something genuine"; and I nods towards a picture of Auntie.

  "I don't see how I can ever tell her," says Vee.

  "It would be a shame," says I. "Them late romances come so sudden.Why not just let her press it and put it away? Clyde will never comeback."

  "Just think, Torchy," says Vee, sort of snugglin' up. "If it hadn'tbeen for you!"

  "That's my aim in life," says I--"to prove I'm needed in the fam'ly."