Torchy As A Pa

  CHAPTER VIII

  NICKY AND THE SETTING HEN

  Honest, the first line I got on this party with the steady gray eyes andthe poker face was that he must be dead from the neck up. Or else he'dgone into a trance and couldn't get out.

  Nice lookin' young chap, too. Oh, say thirty or better. I don't know ashe'd qualify as a perfect male, but he has good lines and the kind ofprofile that had most of the lady typists stretchin' their necks. Butthere's no more expression on that map of his than there would be to abar of soap. Just a blank. And yet after a second glance you wondered.

  You see, I'd happened to drift out into the general offices in time tohear him ask Vincent, the fair-haired guardian of the brass gate, if Mr.Robert is in. And when Vincent tells him he ain't he makes no move togo, but stands there starin' straight through the wall out intoBroadway. Looks like he might be one of Mr. Robert's club friends, so Isteps up and asks if there's anything a perfectly good private sec. cando for him. He wakes up enough to shake his head.

  "Any message?" says I.

  Another shake. "Then maybe you'll leave your card?" says I.

  Yes, he's willin' to do that, and hands it over.

  "Oh!" says I. "Why didn't you say so? Mr. Nickerson Wells, eh? Why,you're the one who's going to handle that ore transportation deal forthe Corrugated, ain't you?"

  "I was, but I'm not," says the chatterbox.

  "Eh?" says I, gawpin'.

  "Can't take it on," says he. "Tell Ellins, will you?"

  "Not much!" says I. "Guess you'll have to hand that to him yourself, Mr.Wells. He'll be here any minute. Right this way."

  And a swell time I had keepin' him entertained in the private office forhalf an hour. Not that he's restless or fidgety, but when you get aparty who only stares bored at a spot about ten feet behind the back ofyour head and answers most of your questions by blinkin' his eyes, itkind of gets on your nerves. Still, I couldn't let him get away. Why,Mr. Robert had been prospectin' for months to find the right man forthat transportation muddle and when he finally got hold of this NickyWells he goes around grinnin' for three days.

  Seems Nicky had built up quite a rep. by some work he did over in Franceon an engineerin' job. Ran some supply tracks where nobody thought theycould be laid, bridged a river in a night under fire, and pulled a lotof stuff like that. I don't know just what. Anyway, they pinned allsorts of medals on him for it, made him a colonel, and when it was allover turned him loose as casual as any buck private. That's the army foryou. And the railroad people he'd been with before had been shiftedaround so much that they'd forgotten all about him. He wasn't the kindto tell 'em what a whale of a guy he was, and nobody else did it forhim. So there he was, floatin' around, when Mr. Robert happened to hearof him.

  "Must have got you in some lively spots, runnin' a right of way smack upto the German lines?" I suggests.

  "M-m-m-m!" says he, through his teeth.

  "Wasn't it you laid the tracks that got up them big naval guns?" I asks.

  "I may have helped," says he.

  So I knew all about it, you see. Quite thrillin' if you had a high speedimagination. And you can bet I was some relieved when Mr. Robert blew inand took him off my hands. Must have been an hour later before he comesout and I goes into the private office to find Mr. Robert with his chinon his wishbone and his brow furrowed up.

  "Well, I take it the one-syllable champion broke the sad news to you!"says I.

  "Yes, he wants to quit," says Mr. Robert.

  "Means to devote all his time to breakin' the long distance no-speechrecord, does he?" I asks.

  "I'm sure I don't know what he means to do," says Mr. Robert, sighin'."Anyway, he seems determined not to go to work for the Corrugated. I diddiscover one thing, though, Torchy; there's a girl mixed up in theaffair. She's thrown him over."

  "I don't wonder," says I. "Probably he tried to get through a wholeevenin' with her on that yes-and-no stuff."

  No, Mr. Robert says, it wasn't that. Not altogether. Nicky has donesomething that he's ashamed of, something she'd heard about. He'drenigged on takin' her to a dinner dance up in Boston a month or soback. He'd been on hand all right, was right on the spot while she waswaitin' for him; but instead of callin' around with the taxi and theorchids he'd slipped off to another town without sayin' a word. Theworst of it was that in this other place was the other woman, someonehe'd had an affair with before. A Reno widow, too.

  "Think of that!" says I, "Nicky the Silent! Say, you can't always tell,can you? What's his alibi?"

  "That's the puzzling part of it," says Mr. Robert. "He hasn't the ghostof an excuse, although he claims he didn't see the other woman, hadalmost forgotten she lived there. But why he deserted his dinner partnerand went to this place he doesn't explain, except to say that he doesn'tknow why he did it."

  "Too fishy," says I. "Unless he can prove he was walkin' in his sleep."

  "Just what I tell him," says Mr. Robert. "Anyway, he's taking it hard.Says if he's no more responsible than that he couldn't undertake animportant piece of work. Besides, I believe he is very fond of the girl.She's Betty Burke, by the way."

  "Z-z-zing!" says I. "Some combination, Miss Betty Burke and NickersonWells."

  I'd seen her a few times at the Ellinses, and take it from me she's somewild gazelle; you know, lots of curves and speed, but no control. Nomatter where you put her she's the life of the party, Betty is. Chatter!Say, she could make an afternoon tea at the Old Ladies' Home sound likea Rotary Club luncheon, all by herself. Shoots over the clever stuff,too. Oh, a reg'lar girl. About as much on Nicky Wells' type as a hummin'bird is like a pelican.

  "Only another instance," says Mr. Robert, "to show that the law ofopposites is still in good working condition. I've never known Betty tobe as much cut up over anything as she's been since she found out aboutNicky. Only we couldn't imagine what was the matter. She's not used tobeing forgotten and I suppose she lost no time in telling Nicky where hegot off. She must have cared a lot for him. Perhaps she still does. Thesilly things! If they could only make it up perhaps Nicky would signthat contract and go to work."

  "Looks like a case of Cupid throwin' a monkey wrench into the gears ofcommerce, eh?" says I. "How do you size up Nicky's plea of not guilty?"

  "Oh, if he says he didn't see the other woman, he didn't, that's all,"says Mr. Robert. "But until he explains why he went where she waswhen----"

  "Maybe he would if he had a show," says I. "If you could plot out aget-together session for 'em somehow----"

  "Exactly!" says Mr. Robert, slappin' his knee. "Thank you, Torchy. Itshall be done. Get Mrs. Ellins on the long distance, will you?"

  He's a quick performer, Mr. Robert, when he's got his program mappedout. He don't hesitate to step on the pedal. Before quittin' time thatafternoon he's got it all fixed up.

  "Tomorrow night," says he, "Nicky understands that we're having a dinnerparty out at the house. Betty'll be there. You and Vee are to be theparty."

  "A lot of help I'll be," says I. "But I expect I can fill a chair."

  When you get a private sec. that can double in open face clothes,though, you've picked a winner. That's why I figure so heavy on theCorrugated pay roll. But say, when I finds myself planted next toBubbling Betty at the table I begins to suspect that I've been miscastfor the part.

  She's some smart dresser, on and off, Betty is. Her idea of a perfectlygood dinner gown is to make it as simple as possible. All she needs is aquart or so of glass beads and a little pink tulle and there she is.There's more or less of her, too. And me thinkin' that Theda Bara stoodfor the last word in bare. I hadn't seen Betty costumed for the dinin'room then. And I expect the blush roses in the flower bowl had nothingon my ears when it came to a vivid color scheme.

  By that time, of course, she and Nicky had recovered from the shock offindin' themselves with their feet under the same table and they'vesettled down to bein' insultin'ly polite to each other. It's "Mr. Wells"and "Miss Burke" with them, Nicky with his eyes in his plate an
d Bettythrowin' him frigid glances that should have chilled his soup. And thenext thing I know she's turned to me and is cuttin' loose with her wholebag of tricks. Talk about bein' vamped! Say, inside of three minutesthere she had me dizzy in the head. With them sparklin', roly-boly eyesof hers so near I didn't know whether I was butterin' a roll orspreadin' it on my thumb.

  "Do you know," says she, "I simply adore red hair--your kind."

  "Maybe that's why I picked out this particular shade," says I.

  "Tchk!" says she, tappin' me on the arm. "Tell me, how do you get it towave so cunningly in front?"

  "Don't give it away," says I, "but I do demonstratin' at a male beautyparlor."

  This seems to tickle Betty so much that she has to lean over and chuckleon my shoulder. "Bob calls you Torchy, doesn't he?" she goes on. "I'mgoing to, too."

  "Well, I don't see how I can stop you," says I.

  "What do you think of this new near-beer?" she demands.

  "Why," says I, "it strikes me the bird who named it was a poor judge ofdistance." Which, almost causes Betty to swallow an olive pit.

  "You're simply delightful!" says she. "Why haven't we met before?"

  "Maybe they didn't think it was safe," says I. "They might be right, atthat."

  "Naughty, naughty!" says she. "But go on. Tell me a funny story whilethe fish is being served."

  "I'd do better servin' the fish," says I.

  "Pooh!" says she. "I don't believe it. Come!"

  "How do you know I'm primed?" says I.

  "I can tell by your eyes," says she. "There's a twinkle in them."

  "S-s-s-sh!" says I. "Belladonna. Besides, I always forget the good onesI read in the comic section."

  "Please!" insists Betty. "Every one else is being so stupid. And you'resupposed to entertain me, you know."

  "Well," says I, "I did hear kind of a rich one while I was waitin' atthe club for Mr. Robert today only I don't know as----"

  "Listen, everybody," announces Betty vivacious. "Torchy is going to tella story."

  Course, that gets me pinked up like the candle shades and I shakes myhead vigorous.

  "Hear, hear!" says Mr. Robert.

  "Oh, do!" adds Mrs. Ellins.

  As for Vee, she looks across at me doubtful. "I hope it isn't that oneabout a Mr. Cohen who played poker all night," says she.

  "Wrong guess," says I. "It's one I overheard at Mr. Robert's club whilea bunch of young sports was comparin' notes on settin' hens."

  "How do you mean, setting hens?" asks Mr. Robert.

  "It's the favorite indoor sport up in New England now, I understand,"says I. "It's the pie-belt way of taking the sting out of theprohibition amendment. You know, building something with a kick to it. Ididn't get the details, but they use corn-meal, sugar, water, raisinsand the good old yeast cake, and let it set in a cask! for twenty-onedays. Nearly everybody up there has a hen on, I judge, or one justcoming off."

  "Oh, I see!" says Mr. Robert. "And had any of the young men succeeded;that is, in producing something with--er--a kick to it?"

  "Accordin' to their tale, they had," says I. "Seems they tried it outin Boston after the Harvard-Yale game. A bunch got together in somehotel room and opened a jug one of 'em had brought along in case Harvardshould win, and after that 10-3 score--well, I expect they'd havecelebrated on something, even if it was no more than lemon extract orJamaica ginger."

  "How about that, Nicky?" asks Mr. Robert, who's a Yale man.

  "Quite possible," says Nicky, who for the first time seems to have hisears pricked up. "What then?"

  "Well," says I, "there was one Harvard guy who wasn't much used tohitting anything of the sort, but he was so much cheered up over seeinghis team win that he let 'em lead him to it. They say he shut his eyesand let four fingers in a water glass trickle down without stopping totaste it. From then on he was a different man. He forgot all about beinga Delta Kappa, whatever that is; forgot that he had an aunt who stilllived on Beacon Street; forgot most everything except that the birdswere singin' 'Johnny Harvard' and that Casey was a great man. He climbedon a table and insisted on makin' a speech about it. You know how thathome brew stuff works sometimes?"

  "I've been told that it has a certain potency," says Mr. Robert, winkin'at Nicky.

  "Anyway," I goes on, seein' that Nicky was still interested, "it seemsto tie his tongue loose. He gets eloquent about the poor old Elis whohad to stand around and watch the snake dance without lettin' out a yip.Then he has a bright idea, which he proceeds to state. Maybe they don'tknow anything about the glorious product of the settin' hen down in NewHaven. And who needs it more at such a time as this? Ought to have someof 'em up there and lighten their load of gloom. Act of charity. Gottabe done. If nobody else'll do it, he will. Go out into highways andbyways.

  "And he does. Half an hour later he shows up at the home brewheadquarters with an Eli that he's captured on the way to the Southstation. He's a solemn-faced, dignified party who don't seem to catchwhat it's all about and rather balks when he sees the bunch. But he'sdragged in and introduced as Chester Beal, the Hittite."

  "I beg pardon?" asks Nicky.

  "I'm only giving you what I heard," says I. "Chester Beal might havebeen his right name, or it might not, and the Hittite part was some ofhis josh, I take it. Anyway, Chester was dealt a generous shot from thejug, followin' which he was one of 'em. Him and the Harvard guy got realchummy, and the oftener they sampled the home brew the more they thoughtof each other. They discovered they'd both served in the same divisionon the other side and had spent last Thanksgiving only a few miles fromeach other. It was real touchin'. When last seen they was driftin' upTremont Street arm in arm singin' 'Madelon,' 'Boola-Boola,''Harvardiana' and other appropriate melodies."

  "Just like the good old days, eh, Nicky?" suggests Mr. Robert.

  But Nicky only shakes his head. "You say they were not seen again?" hedemands.

  "Not until about 1:30 a. m.," says I, "when they shows up in front ofthe Harvard Club on Commonwealth Avenue. One of the original bunch spotsthe pair and listens in. The Harvard man is as eloquent as ever. He'sstill going strong. But Chester, the Hittite, looks bored and weary.'Oh, shut up!' says he. But the other one can't be choked off that way.He just starts in again. So Chester leads him out to the curb and hailsa taxi driver. 'Take him away,' says Chester. 'He's been talking to mefor hours and hours. Take him away.' 'Yes, sir,'says the driver. 'Whereto, sir,' 'Oh, anywhere,' says Chester. 'Take him to--to Worcester.''Right,' says the driver, loadin' in his fare."

  "But--but of course he didn't really take him all that distance?" putsin Betty.

  "Uh-huh!" says I. "That's what I thought was so rich. And about 10:30next mornin' a certain party wakes up in a strange room in a strangetown. He's got a head on him like an observation balloon and a tonguethat feels like a pussycat's back. And when he finally gets down to thedesk he asks the clerk where he is. 'Bancroft House, Worcester, sir,'says the clerk. 'How odd!' says he. 'But--er--? what is this charge of$16.85 on my bill?' 'Taxi fare from Boston,' says the clerk. And theysay he paid up like a good sport."

  "In such a case," says Mr. Robert "one does."

  "Worcester!" says Betty. "That's queer."

  "The rough part of it was," I goes on, "that he was due to attend a bigaffair in Boston the night before, sort of a reunion of officers who'dbeen in the army of occupation--banquet and dance afterward--I thinkthey call it the Society of the Rhine."

  "What!" exclaims Betty.

  "Oh, I say!" gasps Nicky. Then they look at each other queer.

  I could see that I'd made some kind of a break but I couldn't figure outjust what it was. "Anyway," says I, "he didn't get there. He got toWorcester instead. Course, though, you don't have to believe all youhear at a club."

  "If only one could," says Betty.

  And it wasn't until after dinner that I got a slant on this remark ofhers.

  "Torchy," says she, "where is Mr. Wells?"

  "Why," says I, "I saw him drift out on
the terrace a minute ago."

  "Alone?" says she.

  I nods.

  "Then take me out to him, will you?" she asks.

  "Sure thing," says I.

  And she puts it up to him straight when we get him cornered. "Was thatthe real reason why you were in Worcester?" she demands.

  "I'm sorry," says he, hangin' his head, "but it must have been."

  "Then, why didn't you say so, you silly boy!" she asks.

  "How could I, Betty?" says he. "You see, I hadn't heard the rest of thestory until just now."

  "Oh, Nicky!" says she.

  And the next thing I knew they'd gone to a clinch, which I takes as mycue to slide back into the house. Half an hour later they shows upsmilin' and tells us all about it.

  As we're leavin' for home Mr. Robert gets me one side and pats me on theback. "I say, Torchy," says he, "as a raconteur you're a great success.It worked. Nicky will sign up tomorrow."

  "Good!" says I. "Only send him where they ain't got the settin' henhabit and the taxi drivers ain't so willin' to take a chance."