CHAPTER VI
TORCHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS
I expect I'll get used to it all in time. This rural stuff, I mean. Butit ain't goin' to come easy. When you've been brought up to think ofhome as some place where you've got a right to leave your trunk as longas you pay the rent prompt,--a joint where you have so many square feetof space on a certain floor, and maybe eight or ten inches of brick andplaster between you and a lot of strangers,--and then all of a suddenyou switch to a whole house that's all yours, with gobs of land allaround it, and trees and bushes and things that you can do what you likewith--well, it's sort of staggerin' at first.
Why, the day Vee and I moved into this Harbor Hills place that I'd madethe swift trade for with MacGregor Shinn, we just had our baggage dumpedin the middle of the livin'-room, chucked our wraps on some chairs, andwent scoutin' around from one room to another for over an hour, kind ofnutty and excited.
"Oh, look, Torchy!" Vee would exclaim about twice a minute when shediscovered something new.
You know, we'd been in the house only once before, and then we'd lookedaround just casual. And if you want to find out how little you reallysee when you think you're lookin', you want to make a deal like thatonce--buy a joint just as it stands, and then, a few days after, campdown in it and tot up what you've really got. Why, say, you'd 'mostthought we'd been blindfolded that first time.
Course, this was different. Now we was takin' stock, you might say, ofthe things we was goin' to live with. And, believe me, I never had anyidea I'd ever own such a collection, or so big a slice of the U. S. A.
"Only think, Torchy," says Vee, after we've made the rounds inside. "Tenrooms, just for us!"
"Twelve, countin' the cellar and attic," says I. "But there's moreoutside, ain't there?"
Yep, there was. There was an old stable that had been turned into agarage, with a couple of rooms finished off upstairs. Then there was acarriage shed, with more rooms over that, also a chicken house beyond.And stowed away in odd corners was all kinds of junk that might be moreor less useful to have: a couple of lawn-mowers, an old sleigh hoistedup on the rafters of the carriage house, a weird old buggy, a plow, agrindstone, a collection of old chairs and sofas that had seen betterdays, a birch-bark canoe--things like that.
Then there was our lily pond. We had to walk all round that, poke inwith a pole to see how deep it might be, and wonder if there was anyfish in it. On beyond was some trees--apple and pear and cherry,accordin' to Vee, and 'way at the back a tall cedar hedge.
"Why, it's almost an estate," says Vee. "Nearly five acres, you know.How does it seem, Torchy, to think that all this is ours?"
"How?" says I. "Why, I feel like I was the Grand Gazinkus of Gazook."
But, at that, my feelin's wa'n't a marker to the emotions Professor LeonBattou, our artist-chef, manages to work up. He's so tickled at gettin'back to the country and away from the city, where him and Madame Battoucome so near starvin' on the street, that he goes skippin' around like asunshine kid, pattin' the trees, droppin' down on his hands and knees inthe grass to dig up dandelions, and keepin' up a steady stream ofexplosive French and rapid-fire English.
"Ah, but it is all so good!" says he. "_Le bleu ciel, les fleurs, lesoiseaux! C'est bonne, tres bonne. Ne c'est pas?_"
"I expect it is, Leon," says I. "Although I might not state it just thatway myself. Picked out a spot yet for your garden?"
Foolish question! That was his first move, after taking a glance at theparticular brand of cook-stove he'd got to wrestle with. Just to theleft of the kitchen wing is a little plot shut in by privet bushes and atrellis, which is where he says the _fine herbes_ are meant to grow. Hetows us around there and exhibits it chesty. Mostly it's full of lastyear's weeds; but he explains how he will soon have it in shape. And forthe next week the only way we ever got any meals cooked was becauseMadame Battou used to go drag him in by the arm and make him quitdiggin' long enough to hash up some of them tasty dishes for us.
If all amateur gardeners are apt to go so dippy over it, I hope I don'tcatch the disease. No danger, I guess. I made my stab at it about thethird day, when Vee wanted some ground spaded up for a pansy bed. Andsay, in half an hour, there, I'd worked up enough palm blisters andbackache to last me a month. It may seem sport to some people, but to meit has all the ear-marks of plain, hard work, such as you can indulgein reg'lar by carryin' a foldin' dinner-pail and lettin' yourself out toa padrone.
Leon, though, just couldn't seem to let it alone. He almost made a viceof it, to my mind. Why, say, he's out there at first crack of day,whenever that is; and in the evenin', as soon as he has served dinner,he sneaks out to put in a few more licks, and stays until it's so darkhe can hardly find his way back.
You know all them window-boxes he had clutterin' up the studioapartment. Well, he insists on cratin' every last one of 'em andexpressin' 'em along; and now he has all that alleged lettuce andparsley and carrots and so on set out in neat little rows; and when heain't sprinklin' 'em with the hose or dosin' 'em with fertilizer, he'sout there ticklin' 'em with a rake.
"Gee!" says I. "I thought all you had to do to a garden was just tochuck in the seeds and let 'em grow. But accordin' to your method itwould be less trouble bringin' up a pair of twins."
"Ah-h-h-h!" says he. "But monsieur has not the passion for growing greenthings."
"Thanks be, then," says I. "It would land me in the liniment ward if Ihad."
I must say, though, that Vee's 'most as bad with her flowers. Honest,when she shows me where she's planned to have this and that, and hintsthat I can get busy durin' my spare time with the spade, I almost wishedwe was back in town.
"What?" I gasps. "Want me to excavate all that? Hal-lup!"
"Pooh!" says Vee. "It will do you good."
Maybe she thought so. But I knew it wouldn't. So I chases up the hill tothe Ellins place, and broke in on Mr. Robert just as he's finishin'breakfast.
"Say," says I, "you ain't got a baby-grand steam-shovel or anything likethat around the place, have you?"
He says he's sorry, but he ain't. When he hears what I'm up against,though, he comes to the rescue noble by lendin' me one of his expertDago soil-disturbers, at $1.75 per--and with Vee bossin' him she got thewhole job done in half a day. After that I begun to enjoy gardenin' abit more. I'm gettin' to be a real shark at it, too. And ambitious! Youought to hear me.
"How about havin' a couple more lanes of string-beans laid out?" Isuggests. "And maybe a few hundred mounds of green corn, eh?"
And then I can watch Joe start the enterprise with a plow and an oldwhite horse, and I can go to the office feelin' that, no matter how muchI seem to be soldierin', as a matter of fact I'm puttin' in a full day'swork. When I get back in the afternoon, the first thing I want to see ishow much I've got done.
Not that I'm able to duck all kinds of labor that way. Believe me, acountry place is no loafin' spot, especially when it's new, or you'renew to it. Vee tends to that. Say, that girl can think up more odd formsof givin' me exercise than a bunch of football coaches--movin' bureaus,hangin' pictures, puttin' up curtain-rods, fixin' door-catches, andlittle things like that.
Up to a few weeks ago all I knew about saws and screw-drivers and so onwas that they were shiny things displayed in the hardware store windows.But if I keep on tacklin' all the odd jobs she sics me on to, I'll beable to qualify pretty soon as a boss carpenter, a master plumber, andan expert electrician.
Course, I gouge myself now and then. My knuckles look like I'd beenmixin' in a food riot, and I've spoiled two perfectly good suits ofclothes. But I can point with pride to at least three doors that I'vecoaxed into shuttin', I've solved the mystery of what happens to awindow-weight when the sash-cord breaks, and I've rigged up twodrop-lights without gettin' myself electrocuted or askin' any advicefrom Mr. Edison.
Which reminds me that what I can't seem to get used to about the countryis the poor way it's lighted up at night. You know, our place is out acouple of miles from the village and the railro
ad station; and, while wegot electric bulbs enough in the house, outside there ain't a lamp-postin sight. Dark! Say, after 8 P.M. you might as well be livin' in asub-cellar with the sidewalk gratin' closed. Honest, the only glim wecan see from our front porch is a flicker from the porte cochere at theEllinses' up on the hill, and most of that is cut off by trees and lilacbushes.
Vee don't seem to mind, though. These mild evenin's recent, she'sdragged me out after dinner for a spell and made me sit with herwatchin' for the moon to come up. I do it, but it ain't anything I'mstrong for. I can't see the percentage in starin' out at nothing at allbut black space and guessin' where the driveway is or what them darkstreaks are. Then, there's so many weird sounds I can't account for.
"What's all that jinglin' going on?" I asks the other evenin'. "Soundslike a squad of junkmen comin' up the pike."
"Silly!" says Vee. "Frogs, of course."
"Oh!" says I.
Then I listens some more, until something else breaks loose. It's sortof a cross between the dyin' moan of a gyastacutus and the whine of asubway express roundin' a sharp curve.
"For the love of Pete," I breaks out, "what do you call that?"
Vee chuckles. "Didn't you see the calf up at Mr. Robert's?" she asks."Well, that's the old cow calling to him."
"If she feels as bad as that," says I, "I wish she'd wait until mornin'to express herself. That's the most doleful sound I ever heard. Come on;let's go in while you tinkle out something lively and cheerin' on thepiano."
I never thought I was one of the timid kind, either. Course, I'm noCarnegie hero, or anything like that; but I've always managed to getalong in the city without developin' a case of nerves. Out here, though,it's different. Two or three evenin's now I've felt almost jumpy, justover nothing at all, it seems.
Maybe that's why I didn't show up any better, here the other night, whenVee rings in this silent alarm on me. I was certainly poundin' my earindustrious when gradually I gets the idea that someone is shakin' me bythe shoulders. It's Vee.
"Torchy," she whispers husky. "Get up."
"Eh?" says I, pryin' my eyes open reluctant. "Get up? Wha-wha' for?"
"Oh, don't be stupid about it," says she. "I've been trying to rouse youfor five minutes. Please get up and come to the window."
"Nothing doing," says I snugglin' into the pillow again. "I--I'm busy."
"But you must," says she. "Listen. I think someone is prowling aroundthe house."
"Let 'em ramble, then," says I. "What do we care?"
"But suppose it's a--a burglar?" she whispers.
I'll admit that gives me a goose-fleshy feelin' down the spine. It'ssuch a disturbin' word to have sprung on you in the middle of the night.
"Let's not suppose anything of the sort," says I.
"But I'm sure I saw someone just now, when I got up to fix the shade,"insists Vee. "Someone who stepped out into the moonlight right there,between the shadows of those two trees. Then he disappeared out thatway. Come and look."
Well, I was up by then, and half awake, so I tries to peer out into theback yard. I'm all for grantin' a general alibi, though.
"Maybe you was only dreamin', Vee," says I. "Anyway, let's wait untilmornin', and then----"
"There!" she breaks in excited. "Just beyond the garden trellis. See?"
Yep. There's no denyin' that someone is sneakin' around out there. Firstoff I thought it might be a female in a white skirt and a raincoat; butwhen we gets the head showin' plain above some bushes we can make out amustache.
"It's a man!" gasps Vee, clutchin' me by the sleeve.
"Uh-huh," says I. "So it is."
"Well?" says Vee.
I expect that was my cue to come across with the bold and noble acts.But, somehow, I didn't yearn to dash out into the moonlight in mypajamas and mix in rough with a total stranger. But I didn't mean togive it away if I could help it.
"Got a nerve, ain't he?" says I. "Let's wait; maybe he'll fall into thepond."
"How absurd!" says Vee. "No; we must do something right away."
"Of course," says I. "I'll shout and ask him what the blazes he thinkshe's doin'."
"Don't," says Vee. "There may be others--in the house. And before youlet him know you see him, you ought to be armed. Get your revolver."
At that I just gawped at Vee, for she knows well enough I don't ownanything more deadly than a safety razor, and that all the gun-play Iever indulged in was once or twice at a Coney Island shootin' gallerywhere I slaughtered a clay pipe by aimin' at a glass ball.
"Whaddye mean, revolver?" I asks.
"S-s-s-sh!" says she. "There's that Turkish pistol, you know, that Mr.Shinn left hanging over the mantel in the living-room."
"Think it's loaded?" I whispers.
"It might be," says Vee. "Anyway, it's better than nothing. Let's getit."
"All right," says I. "Soon as I get something on. Just a sec."
So I jumps into a pair of trousers and a coat and some bath slippers,while Vee throws on a dressin'-sack. We feels our way sleuthydownstairs, and after rappin' my shins on a couple of rockers I getsdown the old pistol. It's a curious, wicked-lookin' antique about twofeet long, with a lot of carvin' and silver inlay on the barrel. I'dnever examined the thing to see how it worked, but it feels sort ofcomfortin' just to grip it in my hand. We unlocks the back door easy.
"Now you stay inside, Vee," says I, "while I go scoutin' and----"
"No indeed," says Vee. "I am going too."
"But you mustn't," I insists.
"Hush!" says she. "I shall."
And she did. So we begins our first burglar hunt as a twosome, and Imust say there's other sports I enjoy more. Out across the lawn wesneaks, steppin' as easy as we can, and keepin' in the shadow most ofthe time.
"Guess he must have skipped," says I.
"But he was here only a moment ago," says Vee. "Don't you know, we sawhim---- Oh, oh!"
I don't blame her for gaspin'. Not twenty feet ahead of us, crouchin'down in the cabbage patch, is the villain. Just why he should be tryin'to hide among a lot of cabbage plants not over three inches high, Idon't stop to think. All I knew was that here was someone prowlin'around at night on my premises, and all in a flash I begins to see red.Swingin' Vee behind me, I unlimbers the old pistol and cocks it. Ididn't care whether this was the open season for burglars or not. Iwanted to get this one, and get him hard.
Must have been a minute or more that I had him covered, tryin' to steadymy arm so I could keep the muzzle pointed straight at his back, when allof a sudden he lifts his right hand and begins scratchin' his ear.Somehow, that breaks the spell. Why should a burglar hump himself on hishands and knees in a truck patch and stop to scratch his ear?
"Hey, you!" I sings out real crisp.
Maybe that ain't quite the way to open a line of chat with a midnightmarauder. I've been kidded about it some since; but at the time itsounded all right. And it had the proper effect. He comes up on his toeswith his hands in the air, like he was worked by springs.
"That's right; keep your paws up," says I. "And, remember, if you go tomakin' any funny moves----"
"Why, Torchy!" exclaims Vee, grabbin' my shootin' arm. "It's Leon!"
"Wha-a-a-at!" says I, starin' at this wabbly party among the coldslaw.
But it's Professor Battou, all right. He's costumed in a night-shirt, anold overcoat, and a pair of rubbers; and he certainly does look odd,standin' there in the moonlight with his elbows up and his kneesknockin' one another.
"Well, well, Leon!" says I, sighin' relieved. "So it's you, is it? Andwe had you all spotted as a second-story worker. All right; you don'tneed to hold the pose any longer. But maybe you'll tell us what you'recrawlin' around out here in the garden for at this time of night."
He tried to, but he's had such a scare thrown into him that hisconversation works are all gummed up. After we've led him into thehouse, though, and he's had a drink of spring water, he does a littlebetter.
"It was to protect the cabbages, monsieur,
" says he.
"Eh?" says I. "Protect 'em from what?"
"There is a wicked worm," says Leon, "which does his evil work in thenight. Ah, such a sly beast! And so destructive! Just at the top of theyoung root he eats--snip, snip! And in the morning I find that two,four, sometimes six tender plants he has cut off. I am enrage. 'Ha!' Isay. 'I will discover you yet at your mischief.' So I cannot sleep forthinking. But I had found him; yes, two. And I was searching for morewhen monsieur----"
"Yes, I know," says I. He's glancin' worried at the old pistol I'm stillholdin' in my hand. "My error, Leon. I might have guessed. And as theclock's just strikin' three, I think we'd all better hit the hay again.Come on, Vee; it's all over."
And, in spite of that half hour or so of time out, I was up earlier thanusual in the mornin'. I had a little job to do that I'd planned outbefore I went to sleep again. As soon as I'm dressed I slips downstairs,takes that Turkish pistol, and chucks it into the middle of the pond.I'll never know whether it was loaded or not. I don't want to know. Forif it had been---- Well, what's the use?
Comin' back in through the kitchen, I finds Leon busy dishin' up toastand eggs. He glances at me nervous, and then hangs his head. But he getsout what he has to say man fashion.
"I trust monsieur is not displeased," says he. "It was not wise for meto walk about at night. But those wicked worms! Still, if monsieurdesires, it shall not occur again. I ask pardon."
"Now, that's all right, Leon," says I soothin'. "Don't worry. When itcomes to playin' the boob act, I guess we split about fifty-fifty. I'd alittle rather you didn't, but if you must hunt the wicked worm at night,why, go to it. You won't run any more risk of being shot up by me. ForI've disarmed."