MR. ROBERT GETS A SLANT
It's all wrong, Percy, all wrong. Somebody's been and rung in a revise
on this Romeo dope, and here we find ourselves tryin' to make the Cupid
Express on a canceled time-card. What do I mean--we? Why, me and Mr.
Robert. Ah, there you go! No, not Miss Vee. She's all right--don't
worry. We're gettin' along fine, Vee and me; that is, so far as we've
gone. Course there's 'steen diff'rent varieties of Vee; but I'm strong
for all of 'em. So there's no room for tragedy there.
But when it comes to this case of Mr. Robert and a certain party!
You see, after I've sent him back to Miss Hampton loaded up with all
them wise hints about rushin' her off her feet, and added that hunch as
to rememberin' that he has a pair of arms--well, I leave it to you.
Ain't that all reg'lar? Don't they pass it out that way in plays and
magazines? Sure! It's the hero with the quick-action strong-arm stuff
that wins out in the big scene. So why shouldn't it work for him?
I could tell, though, by the rugged set of his jaw as he marches into
the private office next mornin', that it hadn't. I expect maybe he'd
just as soon not have gone into the subject then, with me or anyone
else; but so long as he'd sort of dragged me into this fractured romance
of his I felt like I had a right to be let in on the results. So I
pivots round and springs a sympathetic grin.
"Did you pull it?" says I.
He shrugs his shoulders kind of weary. "Oh, yes," says he. "I--er--I
pulled it."
"Well?" says I, steppin' over and leanin' confidential on the roll-top.
"Torchy," says he, "please understand that I am in no way censuring you.
You--you meant well."
"Ah, say, Mr. Robert!" says I. "Not so rough. I only gave you the usual
get-busy line, and if you went and----"
"Wasn't there some advice," he breaks in, "about using my arms?"
"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at him. "You--you didn't open the act by goin' to
a clinch, did you?"
He lets his chin drop and sort of shivers. "I'm afraid I did," says he.
"Z-z-z-zingo!" I gasps.
"You see, the part of your suggestions which impressed me most was
something to that effect, as I recall it. And then--oh, the deuce take
it, I lost my head! Anyway, the next I knew she was in my arms, and I--I
was----" He ends with a shoulder shrug and spreads out his hands. "I
thought you ought to know," he goes on, "that it isn't being done."
"But what then?" says I. "Did she hand you one?"
"No," says he. "She merely slipped away and--and stood laughing at me.
She hardly seemed indignant: just amused."
"Huh!" says I, starin' puzzled. "Then she ain't like any I ever heard of
before. Now accordin' to dope she'd either----"
"Miss Hampton is not a conventional young woman," says he. "She made
that quite plain. It seems, Torchy, that your--er--that my method was
somewhat crude and primitive. In fact, I believe she pointed out that
the customs of the Stone Age were obsolete. I was given to understand
that she was not to be won in any such manner. Perhaps you can imagine
that I was not thoroughly at ease after that."
And, honest, I'd never seen Mr. Robert when he was feelin' so low.
"Gee!" says I. "You didn't quit at that, did you?"
"Unfortunately no," says he. "Our caveman tactics having failed, I tried
the modern style--at least, I thought I was being modern. The usual
thing, you know."
"Eh?" says I. "Both knees on the rug and the reg'lar conservatory nook
wilt-thou-be-mine lines?"
"I spoke my piece standing," says he, "making it as impassioned and
eloquent as I knew how. Miss Hampton continued to be amused."
"Did you get any hint as to what was so funny about all that?" says I.
"It appears," says Mr. Robert, "that impassioned declarations are
equally out of date--early-Victorian, to quote Elsa exactly. Anyway, she
gave me to understand that while my love-making was somewhat
entertaining, it was hopelessly medieval. She very kindly explained that
undying affection, tender devotion, and the protection of manly arms
were all tommyrot; that she really didn't care to be enshrined queen of
anyone's heart or home. She wishes to avoid any step that may hinder the
development of her own personality. You--er--get that, I trust, Torchy?"
"Clear as mush," says I. "Was it just her way of handin' you the blue
ticket?"
"Not quite," says Mr. Robert. "That is, I'm a little vague as to my
exact status myself. I assume, however, that I've been put on probation,
as it were, until we become better acquainted."
"And you're standin' for that, Mr. Robert!" says I.
He hunches his shoulders. "Miss Hampton has taught me to be humble,"
says he. "I don't pretend to understand her, or to explain her. She is a
brilliant and superior young person. She has, too, certain advanced
ideas which are a bit startling to me. And yet, even when she's hurling
Bernard Shaw or H. G. Wells at me she--she's fascinating. That quirky
smile of hers, the quick changes of expression that flash into those
big, china-blue eyes, the sudden lift of her fine chin,--how thoroughly
alive she is, how well poised! So I--well, I want her, that's all. I--I
want her!"
"Huh!" says I. "Suppose you happened to get her? What would you----"
"Heaven only knows!" says he. "The question seems rather, what would she
do with me? Hence the probation."
"Is this going to be a long-distance tryout," says I, "with you
reportin' for inspection every other Tuesday?"
He says it ain't. Miss Hampton's idea is to shelve the matrimony
proposition and begin by seein' if they can qualify as friends. She
shows him how they'd never really seen enough of each other to know if
they had any common tastes.
"So I am to go with her to a few concerts, art exhibits, lectures, and
so on," says he, "while she has consented to try a week-end yachting
cruise with me. We start Saturday; that is, if I can make up a little
party. But I don't just know whom to ask."
"Pardon me if I seem to hint," says I, "but what's the matter with
brother-in-law Ferdie and Marjorie, with Vee and me thrown in for luck?"
"By Jove!" says he, brightenin' up. "Would you? And would Miss Vee?"
"Maybe we could stand it," says I.
"Done, then!" says he. "I'll 'phone Marjorie at once."
And you should have watched Mr. Robert for the next few days. Talk about
consistent trainin'! Why, he quits goin' to the club, cuts out his
lunch-hour, and reports at the office at eight-thirty. Not for business,
though: Bernard Shaw. Seems he's decided to specialize in Shaw.
Honest, I finds him one noon with a whole tray of lunch gettin' cold,
and him sittin' there with his brow furrowed up over one of them batty
plays.
"Must be some thrillin'," says I.
"It's clever," says he; "but hanged if I know what it's all about! I
must find out though--I must!"
He didn't need to state why. I could see him preparin' to swap highbrow
chat with Miss Hampton.
Meanwhile he barely takes time to 'phone a few orders about gettin' the
cruisin' yawl ready for the trip. I hear him ring up the Captain, tell
him casual to hire a cook and a couple of extra hands, provision for
three or four days, and be ready to sail Saturday noon. Which ain't the
way he usually does it, believe me! Why, I've known him to hold up a
directors' meetin' for an hour while he debated with a yacht tailor
whether a mainsail should be thirty-two foot on the hoist, or thirty-one
foot six. And instead of shippin' up cases of mineral water and crates
of fancy fruit, he has them blamed Shaw books packed careful and
expressed to Travers Island, where the boat is.
We was to meet there about noon; but it's after eleven before Mr. Robert
shuts his desk and sings out to me to come along. We piles into his
roadster and breezes up through town and out towards the Sound. Found
the whole party waitin' for us at the club-house: Vee and Marjorie and
Miss Hampton, all lookin' more or less yachty.
"Hello!" says Mr. Robert. "Haven't gone aboard yet?"
"Go aboard what, I'd like to know?" speaks up Marjorie.
"Why, the _Pyxie_," says he. "See, there she is anchored off--well, what
the deuce! Pardon me for a moment."
With that he steps over to a six-foot megaphone swung from the club
veranda and proceeds to boom out a few remarks.
"_Pyxie_ ahoy! Hey, there! On board the _Pyxie_!" he roars.
No response from the _Pyxie_, and just as he's startin' to repeat the
performance up strolls one of the float tenders and hands him a note
which soon has him gaspy and pink in the ears. It's from his fool
captain, explainin' how that rich uncle of his in Providence had been
taken very bad again and how he had to go on at once. The message is
dated last Wednesday. Course, there's nothing for Mr. Robert to do but
tell the crowd just how the case stands.
"How absurd--just an uncle!" pouts Marjorie. "Now we can't go cruising
at all, and--and I have three pairs of perfectly dear deck shoes that I
wanted to wear!"
"Really!" says Mr. Robert. "Then we'll go anyway; that is, if you'll all
agree to ship as a Corinthian crew. What do you say?" And he glances
doubtful at Miss Hampton.
"I'm sure I don't know what that means," says she; "but I am quite ready
to try."
"Oh, let's!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "I can help."
"And Ferdie is a splendid sailor," chimes in. Marjorie. "He's crossed a
dozen times."
"Then we're off," says Mr. Robert.
And inside of ten minutes the club launch has landed us, bag and
baggage, on the _Pyxie_.
She's a roomy, comf'table sort of craft, with a kicker engine stowed
under the cockpit. There's a couple of staterooms, plenty of bunks, and
a good big cabin. We leaves the ladies to settle themselves below while
Mr. Robert inspects things on deck.
"Plenty of gasoline, thank goodness!" says he. "And the water butts are
full. We can touch at Greenwich for supplies. Now let's get sail on her,
boys."
And it was rich to see Ferdie, all gussied up in yellow gloves, throwin'
his whole one hundred and twenty-three pounds onto a rope. Say, about
all the yachtin' Ferdie and me had ever done before was to stand around
and look picturesque. But this was the real thing, and it comes mighty
near bein' reg'lar work, take it from me.
But by the time the girls appeared we had yanked up all the sails that
was handy, and the _Pyxie_ was slanted over, just scootin' through the
choppy water gay and careless, like she was glad to be tied loose.
"Isn't this glorious?" exclaims Miss Hampton, steadying herself on the
high side and glancin' admirin' up at the white sails stretched tight
as drumheads.
I expect that should have been Mr. Robert's cue to shoot off something
snappy from Bernard Shaw; but just about then he's busy cuttin' across
in front of a big coastin' schooner, and all he remarks is:
"Hey, Torchy! Trim in on that main sheet. Trim in, you duffer! Pull!
That's it. Now make fast."
Nothin' fancy about Mr. Robert's yachtin' outfit. He's costumed in an
old pair of wide-bottomed white ducks some splashed with paint, and with
his sleeves rolled up and a faded old cap pulled down over his eyes he
sure looks like business. I could see Miss Hampton glancin' at him sort
of curious.
But he don't have time to glance back; for we was zigzaggin' up the
Sound, dodgin' steamers and motor-boats and other yachts, and he was
keepin' both eyes peeled. Every now and then too something had to be
done in a hurry.
"Ready about!" he'd call. "Now! Hard alee! Leggo that jib sheet--you,
Ferdie. Slack it off. Now trim in on the other side. Flatter. Oh, haul
it home!"
And I expect Ferdie and me wa'n't any too much help.
"Why, I never knew that yachting could be so exciting," says Miss
Hampton. "It's really quite a game, isn't it?"
"Especially with a green crew," says Mr. Robert.
"But what a splendid breeze!"
"It'll be fresh enough by the time we open up Captain's Island," says
he. "Just wait!"
Sure enough, as we gets further up the Sound the harder it blows. The
waves got bigger too, and begun sloppin' over the bow, up where Ferdie
was managin' the jib.
"Oh, I say!" he sings out. "I'm getting all splashed, you know."
"Couldn't he have an umbrella?" asks Marjorie.
"Please," puts in Vee, "let me handle the jib sheets. I've sailed a
half-rater, and I don't mind getting wet, not a bit."
"Then for the love of soup go forward and send Ferdie aft!" says Mr.
Robert. "Quick now! I'm coming about again. Hard alee!"
"How wonderful!" says Miss Hampton as she watches Vee juggle the ropes
skillful. "I wish I could do that!"
"Do you?" says Mr. Robert eager. "Perhaps you'll let me teach you how to
sail. Would you like to try the wheel? Here! Now this way puts her off,
and the other brings her up. See?"
"N-n-not exactly," says Miss Hampton, grippin' the spokes gingerly.
It wa'n't any day, though, for a steerin' lesson. Most of the time the
deck was on quite a slant, which seems to amuse Miss Hampton a lot.
"How odd!" says she. "We're sailing almost on edge, aren't we? Isn't it
glorious!"
Mr. Robert don't seem to be so enthusiastic. He keeps watching the sails
and the water and rollin' the wheel constant.
"I suppose we really ought to get some of this canvas off her," says he.
"Ferdie, could you help tie in a reef?"
"I--I don't know, I'm sure," says Ferdie. "I think perhaps----"
"This wouldn't be a thinking job," says Mr. Robert. "Of course I might
douse the mainsail altogether and run under jib and jigger; but--no, I
guess she'll carry it. Ease off on that main sheet a trifle, Torchy."
We was makin' a straight run for it now, slap up the Sound--and believe
me we was breezin' along some swift! Vee had come back with the rest of
us, her hair all sparkled up with salt spray and her eyes shinin', and
shows me how to coil up the slack of the sheet like a doormat. On and
on we booms, with the land miles away on either side.
"But see here!" protests Ferdie. "I thought we were to stop at
Greenwich for provisions."
"Make in there against this head wind?" says Mr. Robert. "Not to-day."
It's comin' in heavy puffs now, and the sky is cloudin' up some. Two or
three times Mr. Robert heads the _Pyxie_ up into it and debates about
takin' in the mainsail. Then he decides it would be better to square off
and make for some cove he knows of on the north shore of Long Island. So
we let out the sheet a bit more and go plungin' along.
Must have been about four o'clock when it got to blowin' hardest. A puff
would hit us and souse the bow under, with the spray flyin' clear over
us. We'd heel until the water was runnin' white along the lee deck from
bow to stern. Then it would let up a bit, and the yacht would straighten
and sort of shake herself before another came.
"I think we'll have to slack away on our peak and spill some of this
over the gaff," says Mr. Robert. "Torchy, stand by that halyard, and
when I give the word----"
Cr-r-r-rack! It come mighty abrupt. For a minute I can't make out what
has happened; but when I sees the mast stagger and go lurchin'
overboard, sail and all, I thought it was a case of women and children
first.
"Oh, dear! How dreadful of you, Robert!" wails Ferdie. "We're wrecked!
Help! Help!"
"Oh, dry up, Ferdie!" says Mr. Robert. "No hysterics, please. Can't we
lose a mast or so without gettin' panicky? Just a weak turn-buckle on
the weather stay, that's all. Here, Vee, take the wheel, will you, and
see if you can keep her headed into it while we chop away this wreckage.
Torchy, you'll find a couple of axes over the forward lockers. Get 'em
up. Lively, now!"
We hacked away reckless, choppin' through wire stays and ropes, until we
has it all clear. Then we trims in the jigger and gets away from it. Two
minutes later and we've got the engine started and are wallowin' along
towards land. It was near six before we made the cove and anchored in
smooth water behind a little point.
Meanwhile the girls had gone below to explore the galley, and when we
fin'lly makes everything snug, and trails on down into the cabin to see
how they're comin' on, what do we find but the table all set and
Marjorie fillin' the water glasses. Also there's a welcome smell of food
driftin' about.
"Well, well!" says Mr. Robert. "Found something to eat, did you? What's
the menu?"
"Smothered potatoes with salt pork, baked beans, hard-tack, and
coffee," says Marjorie. "Here it comes."
And, say, maybe that don't sound so thrillin' to you, but to me it
listens luscious.
"By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, after he's sampled the layout. "Who's the
cook!"
Vee says it was Miss Hampton.
"Wha-a-at?" says he, starin'. "Not really?"
Miss Hampton comes back at him with that quirky smile of hers. "Why the
intense surprise?" says she.
"But I didn't dream," says Mr. Robert, "that you ever did anything
so--er----"
"Commonplace?"
"Early-Victorian," he corrects.
"Cook?" says she. "Oh, dear, yes! I can wash dishes, too."
"Can you?" says he. "I'm fine at wiping 'em."
"Such conceit!" says she.
"Then I'll prove it," says he, "right after dinner."
"I'll help you, Robert," says Marjorie.
"My dear sister," says he, "please consider the size of the _Pyxie's_
galley."
So, as there didn't seem to be any more competition, after we'd finished
everything in sight we left the two of 'em joshin' away merry, doin' the
dishes. Later on, while Ferdie's pokin' around, he makes a discovery.
"Oh, I say, Bob," he calls down, "there's a box up here that hasn't been
opened. Groceries, I think. Come have a look at it."
Mr. Robert he takes one glance and turns away disgusted. "No," says he.
"I know what's in there. No use at all on this trip." Then, as he passes
me he whispers: "I say, when you get a chance, chuck that box overboard,
will you?"
I nods, grinnin', and explains confidential to Vee.
And half an hour or so afterwards, ten perfectly good volumes of Bernard
Shaw splashed overboard.
Next we sends Ferdie to take a peek down the companionway and report.
"They're looking at a chart," says he.
"Same side of the table," says I, "or opposite?"
"Why, they're both on one side."
"Huh!" says I, nudgin' Vee. "That highbrow line might work out in time,
but for a quick get-together proposition I'm backin' the dishpan."