On With Torchy. Ford Sewell
Seein' I wouldn't be missed, and that Vee has her back to me, I simply squeezes in out of sight and waits while she says by-by to the last one; so, when she fin'ly shuts the door, there I am.
"Why, Torchy!" says she. "I thought you had gone."
"But it wa'n't a wish, was it?" says I.
"Humph!" says she, flashin' a teasin' glance. "Suppose I don't tell that?"
"My nerve is strong today," says I, chuckin' my hat back on the rack; "so I'll take the benefit of the doubt."
"But all the others have gone to—to do things that will please me," she adds.
"That's why I'm takin' a chance," says I, "that if I stick around I might—well, I'm shy of grandmothers to steal orchids from, anyway."
Vee chuckles at that. "Isn't Cousin Eulalia too absurd?" says she. "And since you're still here—why—well, let's not stand in the hall. Come in."
"One minute," says I. "Where's Aunty?"
"Out," says she.
"What a pity!" says I, takin' Vee by the arm. "Tell her how much I missed her."
"But how did you happen to come up today?" asks Vee.
"There wa'n't any happenin' to it," says I. "I'd got to my limit, that's all. Honest, Vee, I just had to come. I'd have come if there'd been forty Aunties, each armed with a spiked club. It's been months, you know, since I've had a look at you."
"Yes, I know," says she, gazin' at the rug. "You—you've grown, haven't you?"
"Think so?" says I. "Maybe it's the cut-away coat."
"No," says she; "although that helps. But as we walked in I thought you seemed taller than I. Let's measure, here by the pier glass. Now, back to back. Well, if I ever! Look where your shoulders come!"
"No more than an inch or so," says I, gazin' sideways at the mirror; and then I lets slip, half under my breath, a sort of gaspy "Gee!"
"Why the 'Gee'?" says she, glancin' over her shoulder into the glass.
"Oh, I don't know," says I; "only I don't mind bein' grouped like this, not a bit."
"Pooh!" says she, but still holdin' the pose.
"Seems to me," says I, "that Cousin Eulalia is a slick describer. That Princess Charming business ain't so wide."
"Silly!" says she. "Come and sit down."
She was steerin' for the windowseat; but I picks out a cozy little high-backed davenport and, reachin' for one of her hands, swings her into that. "Just room for two here," says I.
"But you needn't keep my hand," says she.
"No trouble," says I. "Besides, I thought I'd inspect what kind of a manicure you take of. M-m-m-m! Pretty fair, no hangnails, all the half-moons showin' proper, an——" I broke off sudden at that and sat starin' blank.
"Well, anything else?" says she.
"I—I guess not," says I, lettin' her hand slip. "You've chucked it, eh?"
"Chucked what?" says she.
"Nothing much," says I. "But for awhile there, you know, just for fun you was wearin' something of mine."
"Oh!" she flashes back. "Then at last you've missed it, have you?"
"With so much else worth lookin' at," says I, "is it a wonder?"
"Blarney!" says she, stickin' out her tongue.
"Did Aunty capture it?" says I.
Vee shakes her head.
"Maybe you lost it?" I goes on. "It wa'n't much."
"Then you wouldn't care if I had?" says she.
"I wanted you to keep it," says I; "but of course, after all the row Aunty raised over it, I knew you couldn't."
"Couldn't I, though?" says she, and with that she fishes up the end of a little gold neck chain from under some lace—and hanged if there ain't the ring!
"Vee!" says I, sort of tingly all over as I gazes at her. "Say, you're a corker, though! Why, I thought sure you'd——"
"Silly boy!" says she. "I'll just have to pay you for that. You will think horrid things of me, will you? There!"
She does things in a flash when she cuts loose too. Next I knew she has her fingers in what Eulalia calls my crimson crest and is rumplin' up all them curls I'd been so careful to slick back. I grabbed her wrists, and it was more or less of a rough-house scene we was indulgin' in, when all of a sudden the draperies are brushed back, and in stalks Aunty, with Cousin Eulalia trailin' behind.
"Ver-ona!" Talk about havin' a pitcher of cracked ice slipped down your back! Say, there was more chills in that one word than ever blew down from Medicine Hat. "What," goes on Aunty, "does this mean?"
"It—it's a new game," says I, grinnin' foolish.
"As old as Satan, I should say!" raps out Aunty.
"Why," squeals Cousin Eulalia gushy, "here is our Unknown Knight, the first to come back with his tribute! Let's see, what was it you said you were going to do? Oh, I know—take a chance on something fresh, wasn't it? Well?"
"Ye-e-es," says I. "And I guess I did."
"Trust him for that!" snorts Aunty. "Young man, at our last interview I thought I made it quite clear that I should not expect you to return?"
"That's right," says I, edgin' around her towards the door. "And you wa'n't, was you?"
Some glance she shot over; but it didn't prove fatal. And as I rides down I couldn't help swappin' a wink with the elevator boy.
"Feelin' frisky, eh?" says he. "So was them other young guys. One of 'em tipped me a half."
"That kind would," says I. "They're comin' back. I'm escapin'."
But, say, who do you guess wins out for Wednesday night? Ah, rattle 'em again! Eulalia fixed it up. Said it was Vee's decision, and she was bound to stick by the rules of the game, even if they did have to throw a bluff to Aunty. Uh-huh! I've got three orchestra seats right in my pocket, and a table engaged for supper afterwards. Oh, I don't know. Eulalia ain't so batty, after all.
CHAPTER II
PULLING A SLEUTH STUNT
Trust Piddie for workin' up wild suspicions. Say, he can't find a stray sheet of scribblin' paper on the floor without pouncin' sleuthy on it and tryin' to puzzle out the hidden meanin'.
So when I get the buzzer call to Old Hickory's private office and finds him and the main stem waitin' in solemn conclave there, I guesses right off that Piddie's dug up a new one that he hopes to nail me with. Just now he's holdin' a little bunch of wilted field flowers in one hand, and as I range up by the desk he shoots over the accusin' glance.
"Boy," says he, "do you know anything about these?"
"Why, sure," says I. "They're pickled pigs' feet, ain't they?"
"No impudence, now!" says he. "Where did they come from?"
"Off'm Grant's Tomb, if I must guess," says I. "Anyway, I wouldn't think they was picked in the Subway."
And at this Old Hickory sniffs impatient. "That is quite enough comic diversion, young man!" he puts in. "Do you or don't you know anything about how those things happened to get on my desk?"