CHAPTER IV
SWITCHING ARTS ON LEON
Oh, sure! We're coming along grand. Did you think we'd be heavin' theblue willow-ware at each other by this time? No. We've hardly displayedany before-breakfast dispositions yet.
Not that we confine ourselves to the coo vocabulary, or advertise anycontinuous turtle-dove act. Gettin' married ain't jellied our brains, Ihope. Besides, we're busy. I've got a new gilt-edged job to fill, youknow; and Vee, she has one of her own, too.
Well, I can't say that her scheme of runnin' a Boots, Limited, hasmesmerized all New York into havin' its shoe-shinin' done out. There'ssomething about this cloth top and white gaiter craze that's puttin' acrimp in her perfectly good plans. But she's doin' fairly well, and shedon't have to think up ways of killin' time.
Course, we have a few other things to think about, too. Just learnin'how to live in New York is a merry little game all by itself. That'sone of my big surprises. I'd thought all along it was so simple.
But say, we've been gettin' wise to a few facts this last month or so,for we've been tryin' to dope out which one of the forty-nine varietiesof New York's home-sweet-home repertoire was the kind for us. I don'tmean we've been changin' our street number, or testin' out differentfour-room-and-bath combinations. The studio apartment I got at a bargainsuits first rate. It's the meal proposition.
First off, we decides gay and reckless that we'll breakfast and lunch inand take our dinners out. That listened well and seemed easyenough--until Vee got to huntin' up a two-handed, light-footed femaleparty who could boil eggs without scorchin' the shells, dish up suchthings as canned salmon with cream sauce, and put a few potatoes throughthe French fry process, doublin' in bed-makin' and dust-chasin' durin'her spare time. That shouldn't call for any prize-winnin' graduate froma cookin' college, should it?
But say, the specimens that go in for general housework in this burg area sad lot. I ain't goin' all through the list. I'll just touch lightlyon Bertha.
She was a cheerful soul, even when she was servin' soggy potatoes orrappin' me in the ear with her elbow as she reached across to fill mywater glass.
"He-he! Haw-haw! Oxcuse, Mister," was Bertha's repartee for such littlebreaks.
Course, I could plead with her for the umpteenth time to try pourin'from the button hand side, but it would have been simpler to have worn ahead guard durin' meals.
And who would have the heart to put the ban on a yodel that begins inour kitchenette at 7 A.M., even on cloudy mornin's?
If Bertha had been No. 1, or even No. 2, she'd have had her passportshanded her about the second mornin'; but, as she was the last of a punkhalf dozen, we tried not to mind her musical interludes. So at the endof three weeks her friendly relations with us were still unbroken,though most of the dishes were otherwise.
So you might have thought we'd been glad, when 6.30 P.M. came, to put onour things and join about a million or so other New Yorkers in findin' adinner joint where the cooks and waiters made no claim to havin' anamateur standin'.
But, believe me, while my domestic instincts may be sproutin' late,they're comin' strong. I'm beginnin' to yearn for nourishment that Idon't have to learn the French for or pick off'm a menu. I'd like to eatwithout bein' surrounded by three-chinned female parties with high bloodpressure, or bein' stared at by pop-eyed old sports who're givin' somekittenish cloak model a bright evenin'. And Vee feels more or less thesame way.
"Besides," says she, "I wish we could entertain some of our friends."
"Just what I was wishin'," says I. "Say, couldn't we find a few simplethings in the cook-book that Bertha couldn't queer?"
"Such as canned baked beans and celery?" asks Vee, chucklin'. "And yet,if I stood by and read the directions to her--who knows?"
"Let's try her on the Piddies," I suggests.
Well, we did. And if the potatoes had been cooked a little more and theroast a little less, it wouldn't have been so bad. The olives were allright, even if Bertha did forget to serve 'em until she brought in theice cream. But then, the Piddies are used to little slips like that,havin' lived so long out in Jersey.
"You see," explains Vee to me afterwards, "Bertha was a bit flurriedover her first dinner-party. She isn't much used to a gas oven, either.Don't you think we might try another?"
"Sure!" says I. "What are friends for, anyway? How about askin' Mr. andMrs. Robert Ellins?"
"Oh, dear!" sighs Vee, lookin' scared. Then she is struck with a brightidea. "I'll tell you: we will rehearse the next one the night before."
"Atta girl!" says I. "Swell thought."
It was while she and Bertha was strugglin' over the cook-book, andgettin' advice from various sources, from housekeepin' magazines to thejanitor's wife, that this Leon Battou party shows up with his sobhist'ry.
"Oh, Torchy!" Vee hails me with, as I come home from the office here theother evenin'. "What becomes of people when they're dispossessed--whenthey're put out on the street with their things, you know?"
"Why," says I, "they generally stay out until they can find a placewhere they can move in. Has anybody been threatenin' to chuck us out fornot----"
"Silly!" says she. "It's the Battous."
"Don't know 'em," says I.
"But surely," goes on Vee, "you've seen him. He's that funny little oldFrenchman who's always dodging in and out of the elevator withodd-looking parcels under his arm."
"Oh, yes!" says I. "The one with the twinklin' eyes and the curlyiron-gray hair, who always bows so polite and shoots that bon-shurestuff at you. Him?"
It was.
It seems the agent had served notice on 'em that mornin'. They'd beenhavin' a grand pow-wow over it in the lower vestibule, when Vee had comealong and got mixed up in the debate. She'd seen Mrs. Battou doin' theweep act on hubby's shoulder while he was tryin' to explain and makin'all sorts of promises. I expect the agent had heard such tales before.Anyway, he was kind of rough with 'em--at which Vee had sailed in andtold him just what she thought.
"I'm sure you would have done the same, Torchy," says she.
"I might," says I, "if he hadn't been too husky. But what now?"
"I told them not to worry a bit," says Vee, "and that when you came homeyou would tell them what to do. You will, won't you, Torchy?"
Course, there was only one real sensible answer to that. Who was I, tostep in casual and ditch a court order? But say, when the only girl inthe universe tackles you with the clingin' clinch, hints that you're abig, brainy hero who can handle any proposition that's batted up toyou--well, that's no time to be sensible.
"I'll do any foolish little thing you name," says I.
"Goody!" says Vee. "I just knew you would. We'll go right up and----"
"Just a sec," says I. "Maybe I'd better have a private talk with thisMr. Battou first off. Suppose you run up and jolly the old lady while hecomes down here."
She agrees to that, and three minutes later I've struck a pose which issort of a cross between that of a justice of the supreme court and abush league umpire, while M. Leon Battou is sittin' on the edge of achair opposite, conversin' rapid with both hands and a pair of eloquenteyebrows.
"But consider, monsieur," he's sayin'. "Only because of owing so little!Can they not wait until I have found some good customers for mypaintings?"
"Oh! Then you're an artist, are you?"
"I have the honor," says he. "I should be pleased to have you inspectsome of my----"
"It wouldn't help a bit," says I. "All I know about art is that as arule it don't pay. Don't you do anything else?"
He hunches his shoulders and spreads out both hands.
"It is true, what you say of art," he goes on. "And so then I must dothe decorating of walls--the wreaths of roses on the ceiling. That wasmy profession when we lived at Peronne. But here--there is trouble aboutthe union. The greasy plumber will not work where I am, it seems. _Ehbien!_ I am forced out. So I return to my landscapes. Are there not manyrich Americans who pay well for such things?"
I wave
s him back into his chair.
"How'd you come to wander so far from this Peronne place?" says I.
"It was because of our son, Henri," says he. "You see, he preferred tobe as my father was, a chef. I began that way, too. The Battous alwaysdo--a family of cooks. But I broke away. Henri would not. He became thepastry chef at the Hotel Gaspard in Peronne. And who shall say, too,that he was not an artist in his way? Yes, with a certain fame. Atleast, they heard here, in New York. You would not believe what theyoffered if he would leave Peronne. And after months of saying no he saidyes. It was true. They paid as they promised--more. So Henri sends forus to come also. We found him living like a prince. Truly! For more thanthree years we enjoyed his good fortune.
"And then--_la guerre_! Henri must go to join his regiment. True, hemight have stayed. But we talked not of that. It was for France. So hewent, not to return. Ah, yes! At Ypres, after only three months in thetrenches. Then I say to the little mother, 'Courage! I, Leon Battou, amstill a painter. The art which has been as a pastime shall be made toyield us bread. You shall see.' Ah, I believed--then."
"Nothing doing, eh?" says I.
Battou shakes his head.
"Well," says I, "the surest bet just now would be to locate somewall-frescoin'. I'll see what can be done along that line."
"Ah, that is noble of you, young man," exclaims Battou. "It is wonderfulto find such a friend. A thousand thanks! I will tell the little motherthat we are saved."
With that he shakes me by both hands, gives me a bear hug, and rushesoff.
Pretty soon Vee comes down with smiles in her eyes.
"I just knew you would find a way, Torchy," says she. "You don't knowhow happy you've made them. Now tell me all about it."
And say, I couldn't convince her I hadn't done a blamed thing but shoota little hot air, not after I'd nearly gone hoarse explainin'.
"Oh, but you will," says she. "You'll do something."
Who could help tryin', after that? I tackles the agent with aproposition that Battou should work out the back rent, but he's afish-eyed gink.
"Say," he growls out past his cigar, "if we tried to lug along everypanhandling artist that wanted to graft rent off us, we'd be in fineshape by the end of the year, wouldn't we? Forget it."
"How about his art stuff?" I asks Vee, when I got back.
"Oh, utterly hopeless," says she. "But one can't tell him so. He doesn'tknow how bad it is. I suppose he is all right as a wall decorator. Doyou know, Torchy, they must be in serious straits. Those two littlerooms of theirs are almost bare, and I'm sure they've been living oncheese and crackers for days. What do you think I've done?"
"Sent 'em an anonymous ham by parcels post?" says I.
"No," says Vee. "I'm going to have them down to-night for the rehearsaldinner."
"Fine dope!" says I. "And if they survive bein' practiced on----"
But Vee has skipped off to the kitchenette without waitin' to hear therest.
"Is this to be a reg'lar dress rehearsal?" I asks, when I comes homeagain. "Should I doll up regardless?"
Yes, she says I must. I was just strugglin' into my dinner coat, too,when the bell rings. I expect Vee had forgot to tell 'em thatsix-forty-five was our reg'lar hour. And say, M. Leon was right therewith the boulevard costume--peg-top trousers, fancy vest, flowin' tie,and a silk tile. As for Madame Battou, she's all in gray and white.
I'd towed 'em into the studio, and was havin' 'em shed their things,when Vee bounces in out of the kitchenette and announces impetuous:
"Oh, Torchy! We've made a mess of everything. That horrid leg of lambwon't do anything but sozzle away in the pan; the string-beans have beenscorched; and--oh, goodness!"
She'd caught sight of our guests.
"Please don't mind," says Vee. "We're not very good cooks, Bertha and I.We--we've spoiled everything, I guess."
She's tryin' to be cheerful over it. And she sure is a picture, standin'there with a big apron coverin' up most of her evenin' dress, and herupper lip a bit trembly.
"Buck up, Vee," says I. "Better luck next time. Chuck the whole shootin'match into the discards, and we'll all chase around to Roverti'sand----"
"Bother Roverti's!" breaks in Vee. "Can't we ever have a decent dinnerin our own home? Am I too stupid for that? And there's that perfectlygug-good l-l-l-leg of--of----"
"Pardon," says M. Battou, steppin' to the front; "but perhaps, if youwould permit, I might assist with--with the lamb."
It's a novel idea, I admit. No wonder Vee gasps a little.
"Why not?" says I. "Course it ain't reg'lar, but if Mr. Battou wants todo some expert coachin', I expect you and Bertha could use it."
"Do, Leon," urges Madame Battou. "Lamb, is it? Oh, he is wonderful withlamb."
She hadn't overstated the case, either. Inside of two minutes he has hiscoat off, a bath towel draped over his fancy vest, and has sent Berthaskirmishin' down the avenue for garlic, cloves, parsley, carrots, and afew other things that had been overlooked, it seems.
Well, we stands grouped around the kitchenette door for a while,watchin' him resuscitate that pale-lookin' leg of lamb, jab things intoit, pour stuff over it, and mesmerize the gas oven into doin' its fullduty.
Once he gets started, he ain't satisfied with simply turnin' out theroast. He takes some string-beans and cuts 'em into shoelaces; hecarves rosettes out of beets and carrots; he produces a swell salad outof nothing at all; and with a little flour and whipped cream he throwstogether some kind of puffy dessert that looked like it would melt inyour mouth.
And by seven-thirty we was sittin' down to a meal such as you don't meetup with outside of some of them Fifth Avenue joints where you have toown a head waiter before they let you in.
"Whisper, Professor," says I, "did you work a spell on it, or what?"
"Ah-h-h!" says Battou, chucklin' and rubbin' his hands together. "It iscooked _a la Paysan_, after the manner of Peronne, and with it is thesauce chateau."
"That isn't mere cookery," says Vee; "that's art."
It was quite a cheery evenin'. And after the Battous had gone, Vee and Iasked each other, almost in chorus: "Do you suppose he'd do it again?"
"He will if I'm any persuader," says I. "Wouldn't it be great to springsomething like that on Mr. Robert?"
And while I'm shavin' next mornin' I connect with the big idea. Do youever get 'em that way? It cost me a nick under the ear, but I didn'tcare. While I'm usin' the alum stick I sketches out the scheme for Vee.
"But, Torchy!" says she. "Do you think he would--really?"
Before I can answer there's a ring at the door, and here is M. LeonBattou.
"The agent once more!" says he, producin' a paper. "In three days, itsays. But you have found me the wall-painting, yes?"
"Professor," says I, "I hate to say it, but there's nothin' doing in thefree-hand fresco line--absolutely."
He slumps into a chair, and that pitiful, hunted look settles in hiseyes.
"Then--then we must go," says he.
"Listen, Professor," says I, pattin' him soothin' on the shoulder. "Whynot can this art stuff, that nobody wants, and switch to somethin'you're a wizard at?"
"You--you mean," says he, "that I should--should turn chef? I--LeonBattou--in a big noisy hotel kitchen? Oh, but I could not. No, I couldnot!"
"Professor," says I, "the only person in this town that I know of who'snutty enough to want to hire a wall decorator reg'lar is me!"
"You!" gasps Battou, starin' around at our twelve by eighteenlivin'-room.
I nods.
"What would you take it on for as a steady job?"
"Oh, anything that would provide for us," says he, eager. "But how----"
"That's just the point," says I. "When you wasn't paintin' could youcook a little on the side? Officially you'd be a decorator, but betweentimes---- Eh?"
He's a keen one, Mr. Battou.
"For so charming young people," says he, bowin' low, "it would be agreat pleasure. And the little mother--ah, you should see wh
at a managershe is! She can make a franc go farther. Could she assist also?"
"Could she!" exclaims Vee. "If she only would!"
Well, say, inside of half an hour we'd fixed up the whole deal, I'darmed Battou with a check to shove under the nose of that agent, and Veehad given Bertha her permanent release. And believe me, compared to whatwas put before Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins that evenin', the dressrehearsal dinner looked like Monday night at an actors' boardin'-house.
"I say," whispers Mr. Robert, "your cook must be a real artist."
"That's how he's carried on the family payroll," says I.
"Of course," says Vee afterwards, "while we can afford it, I suppose, itdoes seem scandalously extravagant for us to have cooking like thatevery day."
"Rather than have you worried with any more Bunglin' Berthas," says I,"I'd subsidize the whole of Peronne to come over. And just think of allI'll save by not havin' to buy my hat back from the coat-room boys everynight."