TORCHY TAKES A RUNNING JUMP
Course, it don't sound natural. A merry sunrise party is an event that
ain't often listed on the cards, unless it's a continuous session from
the evenin' before. But this wasn't a case of a bunch of
night-bloomin' gladiolas who'd lasted through. Hardly. Although
Auntie does have something of a look like the parties you see lined up
at Yorkville Court, charged with havin' been rude to taxi drivers; and
Mr. Ellins might have been passin' the night on a bakery gratin' with a
sportin' extra for a blanket.
We was a long, long ways from either taxis or traffic cops, though. We
was on Nunca Secos Key, with the Gulf of Mexico murmurin' gentle behind
us, and out in front a big red sun was blazin' through the black pines
that edge the west coast of Florida. Five of us, includin' Vee and
Captain Rupert Killam and me; and each in our own peculiar way was
registerin' the Pollyanna-Mrs. Wiggs stuff.
Why not? For one thing, it's about as handsome a December mornin' as
you could dream of--the air soft and mild, with a clean, salty smell to
it that sort of gives you a romantic hunch every sniff you pump in.
But the big reason for this early-mornin' joyfest of ours-- Well,
there's the pirate treasure, almost enough to load a pushcart with.
You know how you feel when you pluck a stray quarter from the L stairs,
or maybe retrieve a dollar bill that's been playin' hide-and-seek in
the gutter? Multiply that by the thrill you'd get if you'd had your
salary raised and been offered par for a block of industrials that had
been wished on you at ten a share, all in the same day. Then you'll
have a vague idea of how chirky we was at 5:30 A.M. as we stood around
in front of that mound we'd torn open, gawpin' first at the heap of
loot and then at each other.
Simple way to pass the time, eh? But, somehow, we couldn't seem to
take it in that we'd actually done the trick. I know I couldn't. I've
always kidded myself along, too, that I was something of a speed artist
when it came to framin' up a situation. I expect we all hand ourselves
little floral offerings like that. But when we get up against anything
really new--that is, some sensation we ain't happened to meet
before--we find we ain't such hair-trigger propositions, after all. We
catches ourselves doin' the open-face act, while the little stranger
idea stands tappin' patient on the wood.
Course, treasure huntin' was just what had lured us so far from home.
For nearly three weeks, now, that had been the big notion. But
cruisin' around in a yacht lookin' for pirate gold as sort of a freaky
lark is one thing, while actually diggin' it out and seein' it heaped
before you on the sand is another.
Maybe Captain Killam was expectin' to carry the game this far. He's
just cocky enough for that. But it's plain to see that Auntie and Mr.
Ellins had been playin' a long shot just for the sport of holdin' a
ticket and watchin' the wheel turn. As for me and Vee, we'd
pooh-poohed the idea consistent from the very start, and had only been
let in along towards the last because we'd happened to be useful. I
don't know that we was any more staggered, though, than the rest of
'em. One sure sign that Old Hickory and Auntie was excited was the
fact that they'd begun callin' each other by their given names.
"Cornelia," says he, "we've done it. We have achieved adventure."
"In spite of our gray hairs--eh, Matthew?" says she.
"In spite of everything," says Old Hickory. "True, we haven't been
shipwrecked, or endured hardship, or spilled any gore. But we have
outfaced a lot of ridicule. If the whiskered old sinners who hid away
this stuff had met as much they might have given up piracy in disgust.
Who knows?"
With that Mr. Ellins snips the end from a fat black cigar, jams his
hands in his pockets, and spreads his feet wide apart. He's costumed
in a flannel outing shirt open at the neck, and a pair of khaki
trousers stuffed into hip rubber boots with the tops turned down. Also
his grizzly hair is tousled and his face is well smeared up with soot
or something. Honest, if he'd had a patch over one eye and gold rings
in his ears he could have qualified as a bold, bad buccaneer himself.
Only there's an amiable cut-up twinkle under them shaggy brows of his,
such as I'd never seen there before.
"Killam," says he, "why don't you chortle?"
"I--I beg pardon?" says Rupert.
He's sittin' on a log, busy rollin' a cigarette, and in place of his
usual solemn air he looks satisfied and happy. That's as much as he
can seem to loosen up.
"Great pickled persimmons, man!" snorts Old Hickory. "Let's be human.
Come, we're all tickled to death, aren't we? Let's make a noise about
it, then. Torchy, can't you start something appropriate?"
"Sure!" says I. "How about doin' a war dance? Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh! Get
in step, Vee. Now we're off. Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh!"
"Fine!" says Old Hickory, droppin' in behind Vee and roarin' out the
Sagawa patter like a steam siren. "Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh! Come, Captain.
Fall in, Cornelia. Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh!"
Would you believe it? Well, Auntie does. I never thought it was in
the old girl. But say, there she is, her gray hair streamin' down over
her shoulders, her skirts grabbed up on either side, and lettin' out
the yelps easy and joyous. Even Rupert has to grin and join in.
Round and round that treasure heap we prances, like so many East Side
kids 'round a Maypole in Central Park, with the yuh-huhs comin' faster
and louder, until finally Auntie slumps on the sand and uncorks the
only real genuine laugh I've ever known her to be guilty of. No wonder
Vee stops and rushes over to her.
"Why, Auntie!'" says Vee. "What's the matter?"
"Matter?" says Auntie, breathin' hard and chucklin' in between. "Why,
my dear child, I haven't done anything so absurd as this since--since I
was forty, and--and it has done me a world of good, I'm sure."
What do you know about that? Admits she carried on as late as forty!
And here I'd supposed she was born scowlin' about the time tabasco
sauce was invented. Well, once more I got to revise my ideas about
her. Maybe she ain't any frostier underneath than the rest of us.
"Allow me, Cornelia, to present you with the palm," says Mr. Ellins,
handin' her a palmetto leaf. "As a war dancer you betray evidence of
previous proficiency. Doesn't she, Torchy?"
"I'll bet she could have had Mrs. Sittin' Bull crowded into the back
drop," says I grinnin'.
And Auntie returns the grin.
You might know it would be Rupert who'd break the spell.
"I am wondering," says be, "just how we are going to get all this
treasure on board the yacht without the crew knowing all about it."
"Why wonder?" says Old Hickory. "Leave it to Torchy."
"Ah, say!" I protests.
"No alibis," insists Mr. Ellins, slappin' me encouragin' on the
shoulder. "Strategy is what we want from you, young man. Plenty of it
under that brilliant hair of yours. We'll give you three minutes."
And of course, havin' it batted up to me that way by the big boss, and
with Vee gazin' at me expectant, I had to produce.
"You'll stand for any little tale I tell 'em, eh?" I asks.
"Absolutely," says he.
So we gets to work with the dozen or more canvas sacks that Rupert has
been foxy enough to bring along. In the bottom we puts a shovelful of
sand; then we dumps in the gold pieces and jewels promiscuous, with
more sand on top, not fillin' any sack more'n a third full. That made
'em easy to handle, and when they was tossed into the launch there was
no suspicious jingle or anything like that.
Half an hour later we was chuggin' away from the little natural jackpot
that we'd opened so successful, headed for the _Agnes_. And, believe
me, the old yacht looks mighty homey and invitin', lyin' there in the
calm of the mornin' with all her awnin's spread and a trickle of blue
smoke driftin' up from the forward galley.
"Any orders?" asks Mr. Ellins, as we starts to run alongside.
"I got a few words to say to them early-bird sailors that's
house-cleanin' the decks," says I. "I'm goin' to ask you to stay in
the boat, Mr. Ellins, and look worried. The rest can go aboard.
Captain Killam might rout out the chef and get action on an early
breakfast."
"Ay, ay, Captain Torchy," says Old Hickory. "Here we are, with a
smiling reception committee to greet us, as usual."
There was five in the scrubbin' squad, includin' the second mate, a
pie-faced Swede by the name of Nelse; and, while they seems mighty busy
with pails and mops and brass polishers, I notice they all manages to
drift over to our side of the yacht. You couldn't exactly accuse them
of wearin' grins, but they did look as though something amusin' had
occurred recent. Which shows we was still doin' duty as human jokes.
But that's just what I makes my play on.
As soon as I can dash up the landin' steps, I beckons the second mate
to follow me aft.
"Call your bunch back here, too," says I, "So there'll be no bonehead
plays made."
Then, when I gets 'em together, I tips Nelse the knowin' wink.
"You ain't supposed to know a thing about what's been goin' on
to-night, eh?" I asks.
Nelse, he shrugs his shoulders.
"Aye yust know about work," says he, lyin' free and easy.
"That's a swell motto to pin on the wall," says I. "But listen, Nelse,
while I put a case to you. Suppose, now, you'd been tipped off that if
you dug under a certain bush in a certain back yard you'd find--well,
something worth luggin' away? Ah, never mind shakin' your head! This
is only supposin'. And we'll say the neighbors were wise; they'd
watched you go out with your spade and lantern. And after you'd near
broke your back diggin' you found you'd been buffaloed. Are you
followin' me?"
Who says a Swede is all solid maple from the neck up? Nelse's
buttermilk blue eyes flickers with almost human intelligence. Some of
the men smother a snicker.
"Well," I goes on, "we'll say you was sensitive about it. In order to
duck their frivolous remarks when you came sneakin' back, maybe you'd
be deceitful enough to bluff it through. You might lug something home
in the bag, even if it was only some loose real estate. I don't say
you would, mind you. You got such an honest, cash-register face. But
there are shifty parties who could do that and never bat an eye. I
ain't mentionin' any names."
I didn't need to. To a man, they glances over the rail at Mr. Ellins.
"Then that's all," says I. "Only you got to lay off with them merry
expressions when you lug those sacks aboard. Handle 'em careful and
reverent, and stow 'em in the main cabin where you're told. If you do
it well I expect there'll be more or less in it for all of you. Now,
then, got your cues, have you?"
They salutes respectful.
"Then get busy with the stevedore stuff," says I.
And say, if they'd been coached by a stage manager they couldn't have
done better. Course, I did catch 'em passin' the wink to each other as
two of 'em marches across the deck holdin' a sack tender between 'em;
but that was when they knew nobody but me could see. While they was
down where Old Hickory had his eye on 'em, they was as solemn as
pallbearers. But I'll bet it wasn't many minutes after they got to
their own quarters before the hearty haw-haws was turned loose in four
different languages.
Meanwhile Auntie and Mr. Ellins has been lookin' on without gettin' the
plot of the piece.
"I must say," Auntie comes out with, "that I see no very subtle
strategy about that performance. Those men must have suspected. What
did they think they were carrying on board so carefully?"
"Sand," says I.
"Huh!" grunts Old Hickory.
"You said you'd stand for it," says I. "And all you owe 'em is about
two apiece for helpin' you save your face."
"My face, eh?" says Old Hickory.
"Someone had to be the goat," says I.
"Why, to be sure," cuts in Auntie, beamin' good-natured again. "And I
think Torchy managed it very cleverly."
"Thanks, Mrs. Hemmingway," says I. "Maybe you'll do as much for me
some time, eh?"
"Why--er--certainly I will," says Auntie, catchin' her breath a little.
I had just sense enough to let it ride at that, for you can't push a
thing too far before breakfast. But I didn't mean to let this grand
little idea of mine grow cold. It struck me that, if ever I was goin'
to call for a show-down from Auntie, this was the day.
So, when I finally turned in for a forenoon nap, I was busier plottin'
out just how it ought to be done than I was at makin' up lost sleep. I
ain't one of them that can romp around all night, though, and then do
the fretful toss on the hay for very long after I've hit the pillow.
First thing I knew, I was pryin' my eyes open to find that it's almost
1:30 P.M., and with the sun beatin' straight down on the deck overhead
I don't need to turn on any steam heat in the stateroom.
A good souse in a tubful of salty Gulf water wakes me up all over, and
when I've dolled myself in a fresh Palm Beach suit and a soft collared
shirt I'm feelin' like Winnin' Willie.
As it happens, Vee and I has the luncheon table to ourselves that day,
neither Auntie nor Mr. Ellins havin' shown up, and the others bein' all
through. And somehow Vee always does have that look of--well, as
though she'd just blown in from the rose garden. You know, kind of
clean and crisp and--and honeysuckley. Maybe it's that pinky-white
complexion of hers, or the simple way she dresses. Anyway, she looks
good enough to eat. Don't do to tell 'em so, though.
"Good morning, Torchy," says she, chirky and sweet.
"Wrong on two counts, young lady," says I, ticklin' her ear playful as
I passes.
"Really?" says she, delayin' her attack on a grapefruit. "Just how?"
"It's afternoon, for one item," says I. "And say, why not ditch that
juvenile hail? Torchy, Torchy! Seems to me I ought to be mistered
to-day. Someone ought to do it, anyway."
"Why to-day any more than yesterday?" asks Vee.
I waits until the dinin'-room steward has faded, and then I remarks
haughty: "Maybe it ain't come to you that I'm a near-plute now."
"Pooh!" says Vee. "You're not a bit richer than I am."
"Boy, page the auditin' committee!" says I. "How strong do you tally
up?"
"I'm sure I don't know," says she. "Neither do you, Mister Torchy."
"Oh, yes, I do," says I. "I've got just the same as you."
Vee runs out the tip of her tongue at me.
"That's the sort of disposition," says she, "which goes with red hair."
"Towhead yourself!" says I. "What kind of a scramble has the cook got
on the eggs to-day?"
"You'd better order soft-boiled," says Vee. "I'll open them for you."
"Will you?" says I. "Just this once, or does that stand?"
"This--this is so abrupt!" says Vee, snickerin'.
"You tell it well," says I. "Just as though I hadn't been doin' my
best to dodge the net! But what chance has a man got when he's
cornered at breakfast and she offers to-- Ouch!"
Vee springs one of them boardin'-school tricks of hers, shootin' a
teaspoonful of water accurate across the table.
"Rough-houser!" says I, moppin' my eye with the napkin. "If your
Auntie can't train you, maybe she'll let me try."
"Oh, no doubt she would," says Vee.
"I might ask her," I suggests.
"I'd love to be around when you did," says she, rollin' her eyes impish.
"Meanin' I wouldn't dare, eh?" says I.
Vee only dabbles her pink finger-ends in the little glass bowl, and
chuckles like she was rememberin' something funny.
"Suppose I did and got away with it?" I asks.
Vee gives me a quizzin' glance from them gray eyes, one of the kind
that sort of warms me up under my vest.
"I couldn't decorate you with the Victoria Cross," says she.
"But would you take a chance on the results?" I asks.
"One of the silly things I've learned from you," says Vee, lowerin' her
eyelids fetchin', "is to--to take a chance."
"Vee!" says I, startin' to dash around the table.
"Hush!" says she, wavin' me hack. "Here come your eggs."
Say, what went on durin' the rest of the day I couldn't tell. I expect
it was a good deal the same kind of an afternoon we'd been havin' right
along, but to me it was three X double A with the band playin'. I was
light in the head and I had springs in my heels. Everything and
everybody looked good to me.
I jollied Old Hickory into lettin' me tip the sailors that had lugged
the sacks aboard, and I threw in some of his best cigars just by way of
relievin' my feelin's. Whenever I passed Captain Rupert Killam I
hammered him on the back folksy and told him he sure was some
discoverer. I even let Mrs. Mumford feed me an earful about how the
late dear Mr. Mumford always remembered to send home a bunch of roses
on their weddin' anniversary. Rather than revisit the scene himself, I
suppose.
But when it come to playin' opposite Auntie--say, I was right there
with the Percy-boy stuff: givin' her a hand up the stairs when she came
on deck, leadin' her to a chair on the shady side, and hintin' how she
looked mighty chipper after an all-night session such as we'd had.
Talk about smooth stuff! I had the inside of a banana peel lookin'
like a nutmeg grater.
Auntie falls for it, too. She has me whisper in her ear just where the
treasure is stowed and how complete we'd thrown the crew off the trail.
I works up that sketch of my talk with the Swede second mate until I
had her shoulders shakin'.
"What a boy you are!" says she, gaspy.
"Don't overlook the fact that I'll be votin' next year," says I.
"How absurd!" says Auntie.
"We do grow up, you know," says I. "It's a habit we have. And now,
how about a glass of that iced pineapple the steward fixes so well?
Sure! Lemme fetch a couple."
The climax was when she got me to holdin' a skein of yarn for her. As
Old Hickory strolls by and sees me with my hands stuck out, I thought
he was goin' to swallow his cigar.
Still, I couldn't get just the right cue. Not that I'd mapped out
anything definite. I only knew I had something special and particular
to say to Auntie, but I couldn't spring it unless I got the proper
hunch. So the afternoon petered out, and the sun dropped into the
Gulf, and folks begun disappearin' to dress for dinner.
The word had been passed that this was to be a special event to-night,
so it's full white flannels for the men and evenin' gowns for the
ladies. You see, we hadn't told the outsiders a word. In fact, they
didn't even know we'd been away from the yacht durin' the night.
It's a swell feed the steward puts on, too, considerin' where we was.
Nothin' dry about it, either; for, while Mr. Ellins ain't a great hand
to overdo irrigation, he's no guide to the Great Desert. There was
silver ice buckets on the floor, and J. Dudley Simms lost a side bet to
Professor Leonidas Barr on namin' the vintage. He was five years too
young.
Not until coffee had been served did Old Hickory give any hint that
this was to be a regular celebration, with post-prandial doin's. Then
he proceeds to chase out all the help, lockin' the doors behind 'em.
Next he has me pull the shades over the cabin windows.
"Friends," says he, "you all know what it was that we came down here
for. It sounded foolish in New York, I acknowledge. Even in these
surroundings, our enterprise may have appealed to some of you as a bit
fantastic. But--Torchy, will you and Captain Killam bring those sacks?"
Did we have 'em goggle-eyed? Say, when we dumped peck after peck of
treasure and sand in the middle of the dinner table, and they got to
pawin' over those weird old gold pieces and them samples of antique
jewelry, it was a knockout for fair.
"My word!" gasps J. Dudley. "You must feel like successful bank
robbers."
"Wonderful!" says Professor Barr, breathin' excited through his
whiskers. "Why, some of these doubloons must have been coined during
the reign of--"
"Cornelia," breaks in Mrs. Mumford, "will you look at that old brooch.
It's exquisite!"
"Then it is yours as a souvenir of the trip," says Auntie--just like
that.
Next, Dudley and the Professor was asked to pick out a trinket. After
which Mr. Ellins suggests that they divide the loot into five equal
piles, and that we draw numbers to see who get which. Rupert wasn't
strong for this free and casual way of splittin' the gate receipts, but
he gives in. And when we each has our heap in front of us, with the
sand scraped into the middle of the cloth, Old Hickory has the glasses
filled once more, and starts up that pirate song of his:
"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest--
Yo-ho-ho! and a bottle of rum."
Right in the middle of the festivities, too, I takes my runnin' jump.
Pickin' out a quaint old ring from my collection, I slips around beside
Auntie and snuggles up confidential.
"Well, Torchy," says she, "what is it?"
"It's a big favor," says I. "See this? I want you to let me ask Vee
to wear this for--for keeps. Can I?"
"You--you mean--" she begins.
"Uh-huh!" says I. "Until some time I can fit one on--well, one that
the best man hands me. Come on, Auntie. Have a heart!"
"You ridiculous boy!" says she. "If you must, though--"
Say, I wasn't lookin' for that next move of hers. Think of it--Auntie!
And she lands one right on my cheek, too. Everyone sees it. And,
while I'm pinkin' up like a cranberry tart, Old Hickory sings out
gleeful:
"Tut, tut, Cornelia! What is this all about?"
"I suppose," says Auntie, "that we must drink a toast to these
youngsters of ours. That is, if Verona insists on being so foolish."
"How about it, Vee?" I whispers, capturin' her left hand. "Do we let
'em drink?"
"Silly!" says she. "The other finger."
It's a bit public, I admit. Might as well have hired a hall. But they
all seems to enjoy handin' us the jolly. Mr. Ellins makes a reg'lar
speech, tellin' how fond he is of both of us and how this event pleases
him more'n findin' the buried treasure. He winds up by askin' if
everybody ain't about ready to start back for New York. The vote is
unanimous.
"Why not to-night?" asks J. Dudley.
"To-night it shall be," says Old Hickory.
"Say, Mr. Ellins," I breaks out just then, "lemme pass the word on
that, will you?"
And, when I gets the nod, I breezes out on deck and up to the Captain's
stateroom.
"Cap," says I, "welcome words from the boss."
"Sailing orders?" he asks.
"Yep!" says I. "You're to tie her loose from Florida as quick as you
know how, and head her straight for the wet end of Broadway. Get me?
Broadway! Say, but don't that listen good?"