WITH ELMER LEFT IN
All I can say is that it was a busy day at the Corrugated. Course, I
might go into details, just as I might put mustard in my coffee, or
lock Piddie in the bond safe. Neither of them performances would be
quite so fruity as for me to give out particulars about this special
directors' meetin' that was goin' on. Speakin' by and large, though,
when you clean up better'n thirty per cent. on a semi-annual, you got
to do some dividend-jugglin', ain't you? And with them quiz committees
so thick, it's apt to be ticklish work.
Anyway, Old Hickory has chewed up four brunette cigars the size of
young baseball bats, two of the Board have threatened to resign, and a
hurry call has just been sent out for our chief counsel to report, when
Mr. Robert glances annoyed towards the door. It's nobody but
fair-haired Vincent, that has my old place on the gate, and he's merely
peekin' in timid, tryin' to signal someone.
"For heaven's sake, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "see what that boys
wants. I've already waved him away twice. Of course, if it is
anything important--"
"I get you," says I, passing over to him the tabulated reports I'd been
sittin' tight with. Then I slips out to where Vincent is waitin'.
"Buildin' on fire?" says I.
"Why, no, sir," says be, goin' bug-eyed.
"Oh!" says I. "Then who you got waitin' out there--Secretary Daniels
or the Czar of Russia?"
Vincent pinks up like a geranium and smiles shy, like he always does
when he's kidded. "If you please, sir," says he, "it's only a lady; to
see Mr. Mason, sir."
"Huh!" says I. "Lady trailin' old K. W. here, eh? Must be one of the
fam'ly."
"Oh no, sir," says Vincent. "I'm quite sure it isn't."
"Then shunt her, Vincent," says I. "For you can take it from me, K. W.
is in no mood to talk with stray females at the present writing. Shoo
her."
"Ye-e-e-es, sir," says he; "but--but I wish you would see her a moment
yourself, sir."
"If it's as bad as that," says I, "I will."
Pretty fair judgment Vincent has too, as a rule, even if he does look
like a mommer's boy. Course, he can't give agents and grafters the
quick back-up, like I used to. He side-tracks 'em so gentle, they go
away as satisfied as if they'd been invited in; and I don't know but
his method works just as well. It ain't often they put anything over
on him, either.
So I'm surprised and grieved to see what's waitin' for one of our
plutiest directors outside the brass rail. In fact, I almost gasps.
Lady! More like one of the help from the laundry. The navy blue print
dress with the red polka dots was enough for one quick breath, just by
itself. How was that for an afternoon street costume to blow into the
Corrugated general offices with on a winter's day? True, she's wearin'
a gray sweater and what looked like a man's ulster over it; but there's
no disguisin' the fact that the droopy-brimmed black sailor was a last
summer's lid. Anyway, the whole combination seems to amuse the lady
typists.
This party of the polka dots, though, don't seem to notice the stir
she's causin', or don't mind if she does. A slim, wiry young female
she is, well along in the twenties, I should say. What struck me most
about her was the tan on her face and hands and the way her hair was
faded in streaks. Sort of a general outdoor look she had, which is odd
enough to see on Broadway any time of year.
"Was it you askin' for Mr. Mason?" says I, beginnin' to suspect that
Vincent had made a mistake, after all.
"Yes indeed, suh," says she, sort of soft and slurry. "Ahm th' one.
You jess tell him Valentina Tozier's out hea-uh. He'll know."
"Oh, will he?" says I, a bit sarcastic. "Sorry, Valentina, but I
couldn't think of disturbin' Mr. Mason now. Maybe you don't know it,
but he's a mighty busy man."
"Well, there!" says she. "Think of that!"
Then I knew why it was Vincent had taken a chance on crashin' into a
directors' meetin'. He'd been hypnotized by Miss Tozier's smile. It
ain't any common open-faced movement, believe me. It's about the
friendliest, most natural heart-to-heart smile I ever got in range of.
And, somehow, it seems to come mostly from the eyes; a chummy,
confidential, trustin' smile that sparkles with good faith and good
nature, and kind of thrills you with the feelin' that you must be a lot
better'n you ever suspected. Honest, after one application I forgets
the queer rig she has on, the mud-colored hair, and the way her chest
slumps in. Whoever she might be and whatever she might want, I'm
strong for givin' her the helpin' hand. If I could have gone in and
led old K. W. out by the arm, I'd have done it. But you couldn't have
pulled him away from that Board scrap with a donkey-engine. He was
unloadin' a ten months' grouch against some of Old Hickory's pet
policies, Mr. Mason was, and he was enjoyin' himself huge, even if he
did know he was due to be steam-rollered when the vote was taken.
"See here, Miss Tozier," says I, "it wouldn't do you a bit of good to
see Mr. Mason now. He's all lathered up and frothin' at the mouth.
But in an hour or so he'll be calmed down, maybe before. I tell you
what; you stroll out and take in the store windows for a spell and then
drift back later. Come up here if you like, or you can wait in the
arcade and nail him as he comes down the elevator."
She thanks me real folksy, pats Vincent on the shoulder, and starts for
the corridor with a long, easy swing that some of these barefoot poem
dancers couldn't execute to save their necks.
"Huh!" says I to Vincent. "Put the spell on us, didn't she?"
All through the rest of that messy session I'd glance now and then at
K. W. and wonder where and how he ever happened to meet up with
Valentina. I was meanin' to pass him the word how she was waitin' to
see him; but after he'd registered his big howl, and Old Hickory had
first smeared him and then soothed him down, he left so sudden that I
didn't have a chance.
Besides, I was some rushed myself. There was a lot of odds and ends to
be tied up after the meetin', and two or three of them resolutions that
was jammed through called for quick action early next day. That's what
kept me and Piddie and Mr. Robert doin' so much overtime. About six
o'clock we had coffee and sandwiches sent in, and it must have been
well after seven before we locked the big safes and called it a day.
Piddie had already beat it to catch a late train to Jersey, so there
was only the two of us that dodged the scrubwomen on our way down to
the street.
Mr. Robert had a taxi waitin' to take him to the club, and I was
debatin' whether I needed a reg'lar dinner or not, when I gets a
glimpse of someone leanin' patient against a pillar opposite the main
elevator exit.
"Sufferin' sisters!" says I. "Valentina!"
"I beg pardon?" says Mr. Robert.
"Say," says I, "help me put a smilin' party on the track of K. W.
Mason, will you? Here she is."
I expect Mr. Robert would have ducked if he could, after one view of
the polka-dot dress and the rusty straw lid; but there was Valentina
comin' straight at us.
"For the love of Mike!" says I. "You ain't been waitin' all this time,
have you?"
"Right hea-uh," says she. "Ah reckon Ah done missed him."
"Why," says I, "Mr. Mason left hours ago. Must be something important
you want to see him about, eh?"
"Ah don't know as it is," says she; "only Ah promised, ef ever Ah got
to Noo Yawk, Ah'd look him up. He made me. And Ah sure would like to
see Warrie mahself."
"Warrie!" says I. "Oh, gosh! Why, you mean young Mr. Mason--Warren,
don't you?"
She nods.
"Well, say, that's too bad," says I. "My fault, though. But I never
thought of Warrie as the one. Why, he hasn't been with the Corrugated
for over a year now."
I might have added that we'd had hard work missin' him at any time.
Not that he wasn't all right in his way, but--well, it was just a case
of bein' more ornamental than useful. A bit thick in the head, Warrie.
But it was a stunnin' head--reg'lar Apollonaris Belvidere. He had wavy
brown hair, and big, peaceful brown eyes. Stood a little over six feet
too, and they say that when it came to ridin' a spotted pony and
swingin' a polo mallet he was all there. But in the bond department he
was just under foot.
So, when he develops rheumatism in one shoulder and a specialist orders
him South, it wasn't any serious jolt to the business world. And when
he finally shows up again it didn't take much urgin' from Mr. Robert to
induce him to pass up his financial career for good. He was engaged to
be married anyway, and that should have been enough to occupy his mind.
Where he'd run across Valentina was the big puzzle, and the easiest way
to solve it was to ask her. Which I does.
"Why, at Sand Spur Point," says she.
"Sounds cute," says I. "Is it on the map?"'
"It's on mine," says Valentina.
"Sand Spur, did you say?" puts in Mr. Robert. "Isn't that the place he
discovered when he was sent South to bake out his shoulder? Florida,
isn't it?"
"West coast," says Valentina.
"Of course," says Mr. Robert. "He talked a lot about it. Seemed to
have grown rather fond of the people there."
"We all thought a heap of Warrie," says Miss Tozier, lettin' loose that
mesmerizin' smile of hers.
Mr. Robert gets the full force of it, for he'd been lookin' her over
sort of curious; and blamed if he don't fall for it 'most as hard as me
and Vincent.
"By George!" says he. "I'm sure Warrie would feel badly if he missed
seeing anyone from Sand Spur. You must let me know where you're
stopping. I'll send him word."
"Wouldn't do a bit of good in the world," says Valentina, "for Ah'm not
stopping anywhere. You see, Ah come up with pop on a lumber-schooner,
and we'll be headed out past Sandy Hook by sunrise."
"Can't we locate Warrie to-night some way?" I asks.
Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders.
"We can," says he. "I happen to know where he is at this moment." Then
he whispers, "Dining at the Tarleton; Miss Prentice is with him."
"Gee!" says I.
Maybe you've seen pictures of this young society queen that's annexed
Warrie? I had. That's why I took such a long breath before askin',
"Would you take a chance?"
"Eh?" says Mr. Robert.
Then, as the idea strikes in, he develops that eye twinkle.
"Why," he goes on, "I see no serious objection. Surely she might spare
him for five minutes. Yes, of course. You may have my taxi if you'll
drop me at the club first. Let's do it."
So that's how I come to be interviewin' a chesty head waiter at the
Tarleton twenty minutes later. From where I stood I could see Warrie
Mason well enough, but I has to write out a message and have it taken
in. Him and Miss Prentice are havin' dinner all by themselves, and
they sure make a swell-lookin' pair. Warrie he looks classy in
anything, but in evenin' clothes he's a reg'lar young grand duke; while
Miss Prentice--well, she's one of these soft, pouty-lipped, droopy-eyed
charmers, the kind you see bein' crushed against some manly shirt bosom
on the magazine covers. I watches her nod careless as Warrie explains
what's in the note, and the next minute he's out givin' me the cordial
hail.
"What!" says he. "A friend from Sand Spur? By Jove! It--it can't be
Valentina, can it?"
"She's the one," says I. "Goin' back early in the mornin' too, so I
didn't know but you might like to step out and--"
"Step out nothing!" says he. "Bring her in. There's only Gladys, and
we're just starting dinner. I want you both to join us."
"Wha-a-at?" I gasps. "Lug Valentina--in there!"
"Most certainly," says he.
"But see here, you big boob," says I, "have you got any idea how she's
costumed?"
He laughs. "Let's see," he goes on, "it ought to be a dark blue print
with red polka dots. That used to be her Sunday dress."
"You win," says I. "The styles in Sand Spur ain't changed any. But
this is Fifth Avenue, remember."
"Torchy," says he, droppin' one of his big paws on my shoulder, "what I
shall always remember about Valentina Tozier is this: that when she
picked me up out on the Gulf I was in a bad way. I'd been rolling
around in a rummy old motor-boat for hours and hours, with a stalled
engine, and a norther howling down the coast. Came sailing out in a
crazy catboat, Valentina did, and towed me in. She knew nothing about
who I was, mind you, but that made no difference to her or Pop Tozier.
From then on there wasn't anything in Sand Spur too good for me. And
now--but where is she?"
Honest, in all I'd seen of him at the Corrugated, I'd never known
Warrie Mason to act so much like a live one. There was no stopping
him. Before I could register any more protests, he'd hauled Valentina
out of the cab, taken her by the arm, and was steerin' her slam into
the middle of the Tarleton's Looie Cans dinin'-room. The haughty head
waiter lets out one gasp and steadies himself against a marble pillar.
As for Miss Prentice, she takes one look at what Warrie is towin' in,
and goes pink in the ears. Then she stiffens, from the jaws down.
But Warrie don't seem to be wise to the fact that he's pullin' anything
odd. He acts just as natural as if he'd picked up one of the younger
set.
"Gladys," says he, "this is Valentina Tozier, that I've told you so
much about. Valentina, I want you to know Miss Prentice."
"Ah!" says Gladys, a bit choky and archin' her eyebrows sarcastic.
"I--I recall the name."
You'd 'most thought Valentina would have been fussed to flinders about
then; but, beyond actin' a little dazed, she don't show it. She lets a
couple of French waiters peel off the faded ulster and the gray
sweater, and, believe me, when the whole of that polka-dot costume is
revealed she's some conspicuous. For a second it looked like Gladys
was goin' to freeze with horror; but, after givin' Valentina the
once-over, she just lifts her shoulders a trifle and indulges in a
panicky little giggle.
[Illustration: For a second it looked like Gladys was goin' to freeze
with horror; but she just gives Valentina the once-over and indulges in
a panicky little giggle.]
Of the two of 'em, I will say that Valentina takes it easier, for that
dinner dress of Miss Prentice's must have jarred her some. But
Valentina only stares for a minute, and then manages to work up one of
them friendly smiles.
Warrie don't get any of this by-play at all. Soon as he's through
shootin' orders to the waiter, he turns to Valentina. "Well, well!"
says he enthusiastic. "This is a treat. Did you come up by train or
steamer?"
"Schooner," says Valentina. "You know all that cypress you saw 'em
yankin' out of the swamp back of the Point? Well, suh, it's lumber
now, every stick. Sold, too. That's what me and pop came up for."
"You don't say!" says Warrie. "How much?"
"Near nine thousand," says she.
"Whe-e-e-ew!" says Warrie. "Now I suppose you'll be moving into Tampa."
"No," says Valentina; "we're fixin' to buy another swamp."
Then they both laughed, like it was some huge joke.
"But how is everyone?" goes on Warrie. "Uncle Jake still going out
after stone-crabs?"
"Every mornin'," says Valentina. "And they're runnin' fine this
winter, too. He put near a bushel on the schooner before we sailed.
We had 'em all the way up."
"M-m-m-m!" says Warrie, smackin' his lips. "Remember the ones we
roasted that day?"
"'Deed I do," says she. "You didn't want to try 'em at first."
"Wasn't I all kinds of a chump, though?" says he. "And that first
chicken pillau you made! Say!
"You know," says Warrie, turnin' to Gladys, "it was Valentina who
actually knocked out that rheumatism of mine. Did it with Green
Springs water and fresh limes. Awful dose! But inside of two weeks
she had me rowing a boat."
"Really!" says Gladys, smotherin' a yawn.
"Don't you believe him, Miz Prentice," protests Valentina. "It was
just livin' a month in Sand Spur. That would cure anyone of anything."
"Sand Spur!" echoes Gladys. "It must be a wonderful place."
Valentina and Warrie swaps grins.
"It's a dozen shacks strung along two snaky wagon ruts through the
sand," says Valentina, "a few pines and live-oaks, a whole heap of
razor-backs, and us Crackers dodgin' between. That's Sand Spur."
"Oh, a little more than that," breaks in Warrie. "You forget the roses
and the yellow jasmine climbing over the shacks, the Spanish moss
festooning the oaks, the mocking-birds singing from every tree-top, the
black cypress behind the pines, and out front the jade-green Gulf where
the sun goes down so glorious. You forget the brilliant mornings and
the wonderful soft moonlight nights."
Well, that's the way them two went on, like a couple of kids talkin'
over a summer vacation. I gathered that Warrie had simply quit the
sanatorium where he'd been played for a good thing, and settled down in
Sand Spur with the Toziers; gettin' fat on the weird dishes Valentina
could cook, and havin' the time of his life. Seems as if he'd made
friends with the whole population, for he had to ask about all of 'em
by their front names.
Listenin' to 'em was sort of interestin' to me, but Miss Prentice don't
conceal the fact that she's bored stiff. Meanwhile we was wadin'
through a first-class feed. And about nine o'clock Valentina announces
that she'll have to be gettin' back to the schooner or pop'll be
worried. Warrie says he'll send her down in a cab, and asks me if I'll
go along to see that she gets there safe, which I says I will. She was
bein' helped into the ulster when Warrie remembers someone else in Sand
Spur.
"Oh, by the way," says he; "what about Elmer?"
Valentina laughs easy.
"Oh, he's the same Elmer," says she. "He's still foreman out at the
swamp."
"Comes over every Sunday night as usual, eh?" asks Warrie.
She nods. "Wednesdays now, too," says she.
"Then," says Warrie, "you and Elmer are to--er--"
"Ah reckon," says Valentina. "Sometime this spring."
"Well, well!" says Warrie. Then, as kind of an afterthought, he holds
out his hand. "My best wishes for you both," says he.
"Thanks," says Valentina, and gives him about half a smile. Next she
glances towards Gladys. "Say," she goes on, "is--is she the one?"
"Yes," says Warrie.
"Same to you," says Valentina. "Good-by."
They shook hands once more--sort of a long, lingerin' shake, with their
eyes steady to each other; and then--well, then I steers Valentina out
past the grinnin' cloak-room boys and stows her in the taxi. She
didn't have much to say on the way down. Nor I. And, take it from me,
it's some ride from the Tarleton down to Pier 9, East River.
First thing next morning Mr. Robert wants to know how the reunion
passed off, and he listens bug-eyed as I describes the way we rung in
on the dinner-party with Gladys.
"The deuce you did!" says he. "Just like Warrie to do that, though.
But, if I know Miss Prentice at all, she will pay him back for that
little prank."
"Now you've said something!" says I.
"And Valentina," he adds reflectively, "is on her way back to Sand
Spur, is she?"
"I expect that's where she belongs," says I; "and yet--"
"Well, yet what?" demands Mr. Robert, sort of quizzin'.
"I was only thinkin'," says I, "that if the cards could have been
shuffled different, with Gladys startin' in Sand Spur and Valentina on
the Avenue, Warrie might not have so many yawns comin' to him across
the dinner-table. But then, maybe Elmer of the Swamp deserves some
lucky breaks. Who knows?"