A LITTLE SPEED ON THE HOME STRETCH
And, speakin' of thrills, what beats gettin' back to your own home
town? Why, say, that mornin' when we unloads from the _Agnes_ after a
whole month of battin' around, New York looked to me like it had been
touched up with gold leaf and ruby paint. Things seemed so fresh and
crisp, and all so sort of natural and familiar. And the sounds and the
smells! It's all good.
Course, there wasn't any pelicans floatin' around in the North River,
nor any cocoanut palms wavin' over West Thirty-fourth Street. As our
taxis bumped us along, we dodged between coffee-colored heaps of slush
that had once been snow, and overhead all that waved in the breeze was
dingy blankets hung out on the fire-escapes. Also we finds Broadway
ripped up in new spots, with the sewer pipes exposed jaunty.
But somehow them things are what you expect. And you feel that, after
all, there's only one reg'lar place on the map--here, where you can
either pay a nickel for a hot-dog breakfast off a pushcart, or blow in
ninety cents for a pair of yesterday's eggs in a Fifth Avenue grill:
where you can see lovely lady plutesses roll by in their heliotrope
limousines, or watch little Rosie Chianti sail down the asphalt on one
roller skate.
Uh-huh! It's a great place to get back to, take it from me. Specially
when you hit it like I did, a two-way winner with a full-sized portion
of pirate loot, and Vee wearin' a ring of mine.
And maybe I didn't enjoy driftin' into the Corrugated general offices,
with everybody, from fair-haired Vincent up to Mr. Robert, givin' me
the glad hail. Some different, eh, from the first time I struck there,
'way back in the early days? I was one of a bunch then, trailin' a
want ad; and when Piddie had us lined up, it looked like I'd be only an
"also ran" until Old Hickory pads past, discovered my pink thatch, and
has me signed on as office boy.
Different! Why, inside of two minutes I begun to believe I was
somebody. Vincent starts it when he swings the brass gate wide, just
as I used to do for bank presidents.
"Good morning, sir," says he. "Glad to see you back, sir."
"Vincent," says I, "there's two of us, then; only I'm glad all over."
I hadn't counted on that row of lady typists, either. Honest, I never
faced such a battery of friendly smiles in all my more or less cheerful
career. Even Miss Muggs, who wears a business face that would have a
head undertaker lookin' frivolous, loosens up her mouth corners for a
second; while as for some of the other self-startin' queens--well, they
had me rosy in the ears, all right. I hurries past to where Mr. Piddie
is tryin' to make his ingrowin' dignity let loose its grip for a minute.
"Ah!" says he. "Back from the sunny South, eh? And how did you find
Florida?"
"Easy," says I. "We looked it up on the map."
"No, no," says Piddie; "I mean, how was the weather down there?"
"No weather at all," says I. "They just have climate. How are things
around the shop, though?"
"Very satisfactory," says Piddie, rubbin' his hands.
"Bound to be," says I, "with you and Mr. Robert sittin' on the lid."
With which soothin' josh and a pat on the shoulder, I slips through
into the private office, where Mr. Robert sits puffin' a cigarette
placid in front of a heaped-up desk. When he sees me, he grins.
"Well, well!" says he, shovin' out the cordial palm. "So the treasure
seekers have returned, have they?" And he chuckles.
"Uh-huh!" says I, doin' a little grin on my own account.
"At least," he goes on, "you have a fine tropical complexion to show
for your trip. Little else, I presume?"
"Brace yourself, Mr. Robert," says I, "for you got a jolt comin'."
"Why," says he, "you can't mean that--"
I nods.
"Rupert had the right dope," says I. "It was just where he said it
was--jewels and everything. Why, say, we got enough to stock a
museum--sacks full."
"Oh, I say, Torchy!" says he, after starin' at me a second. "What's
the sense?"
"I don't claim there's any sense to it," says I. "It was the simplest
stunt you ever saw. We just went and dug, that's all. But there was
the stuff. And we got away with it. You might's well get used to
believing though, for I'm applyin' right now for a block of Corrugated
preferred. That's what I'm goin' to soak my share into."
"Your share?" says he. "But I didn't understand that you--"
"Vee and I helped locate the treasure mound," I explains, "and got
counted in just in time. And say, the best is yet to come. It's goin'
to be Vee and me for keeps pretty soon."
"Wha-a-at!" says he. "You've won over Auntie?"
"Right and regular," says I. "Vee's wearin' the ring."
Say, Mr. Robert's got a grip on him when he gets real enthusiastic. I
could feel it in my fingers for hours after. Then he had to call in
Piddie and tell him, and by noon the word has been passed all through
the offices. I expect it started modest, but by the time it got to
that bunch of young hicks in the bond room they had it that I was going
to marry a Newport heiress, resign from the Corrugated, and live abroad.
"In some swell Scotch castle, I suppose?" one of 'em asks.
"Unless I can rent Buckingham Palace," says I. "Say, it's a wonder you
boys would let anybody feed you a chunk like that! Newport heiress be
blowed! She's just a nice New York girl, one I've known four or five
years; and when it comes to settlin' down we'll most likely look for
three rooms on the top floor with a two-by-four bath and a foldin'
kitchenette. I'll be satisfied at that, though."
It's a great state of mind to be in. I hope I didn't look as foolish
as I felt. If I had I guess they'd have had most of my private seccing
gone over careful. But nobody seemed to suspect how giddy I was in the
head. I goes caromin' around, swappin' smiles with perfect strangers
and actin' like I thought life was just a continuous picnic, with no
dishes to wash afterwards.
Course, my reg'lar evenin' program is to doll up after dinner and drop
around. I'll admit Auntie hadn't issued any standin' invitation, but
if Vee was expectin' me that's enough. And she was. We went to shows
some, or took walks up the Drive, or just sat in the window nook and
indulged in merry conversation. Once we had a whale of a time, when
Mr. Robert gives a perfectly good dinner dance for us. Oh, the real
thing--Cupid place-cards, a floral centerpiece representin' twin
hearts, and all that sort of stuff. I begun to feel as if it was all
over but the shoutin'. Even got to scoutin' around at odd times,
pricin' small apartments and gazin' into furniture store windows.
And then-- Well, it was just a little chat Auntie has over the 'phone
that takes most of the joy out of life. I didn't notice what she was
sayin' at first, bein' busy tryin' to draw out the floor plan of a cute
four-room affair I'd inspected recent. All of a sudden, though, I
pricks up my ears.
"But it's so hot in Jamaica," Auntie is tellin' this friend of
hers--"that is, unless one goes to Montego Bay, and the hotel there--
Oh, Newcastle? Yes, that is delightful, but-- Can one, really? An
army officer's villa! That would be ideal, up there in the mountains.
And Jamaica always routs my rheumatism. For three months? When can we
get a good steamer? The tenth. That would give us time. Well, I
think we shall join you. Let me sleep on it. I'll call you about noon
to-morrow? Good-by."
Meanwhile Vee and I are gazin' blank at each other. We don't need any
diagram to understand what Auntie is up to. Just one of her old
tricks--a speedy packin' up and a casual getaway for Jamaica. Say,
wouldn't that crack your faith in human nature? And she proceeds to
announce her scheme as placid as if it was something she'd thought out
special for our benefit.
"Excuse me," says I, "but you ain't plannin' on Vee's goin' along, too,
are you?"
"Why, certainly," says she. "Verona could not stay here alone. And at
this season the mountains of Jamaica are--"
"It's utterly stupid at Newcastle," breaks in Vee. "Nothing but a lot
of black soldiers, and a few fat English officers, and seeing the same
dozen people at teas three times a week."
"Besides," I puts in, "it would be a long jump for me to run down for
over Sunday, wouldn't it?"
"How unreasonable of you both," says Auntie. "Now, you young people
have been together a great deal of late. You can well afford to be
separated for a few months."
I goes choky in the throat. There was a lot of points I wanted to
make, but I couldn't seem to state 'em fast enough. All I can get out
is: "But--but see here; we--we was sort of plannin' to--to be--"
"Nonsense!" cuts in Auntie. "You are hardly more than children, either
of you. It's absurd enough of you becoming engaged. But beyond that--
Oh, not for years and years."
Oh, yes, there was a lot more to the debate--on our side. I registered
strong, with some cuttin' remark about bein' treated like a scrap of
paper. As for Auntie, she simply stands pat. "Not for years and
years." That's where her argument begins and ends. Not that she's
messy about it, or intends to be mean. She simply don't take our
little plans serious. They don't count.
"There, there!" says she. "We'll say no more about it," and sails off
to sort out the dresses she'll want to stow in her trunk.
"Huh!" says I, glancin' at Vee. "Merry idea of hers, eh? Years and
years! Talks like she thought gettin' married was some game like
issuin' long-term bonds maturin' about 1950."
"If you only knew how stupid and dull it's going to be for me there!"
says Vee, poutin'.
"With you that far off," says I, "New York ain't goin' to seem so gay
for a certain party."
"I suppose I must go, though," says Vee.
"I don't get it," says I.
"Oh, but I must," says she.
Durin' the next week we talked it over a lot; but, so far as I can
remember, we only said about the same thing. It came out that this
friend of Auntie's was one that Vee never could stand for, anyway: a
giddy old dame who kalsomined her face, was free with advice on
bringin' up nieces, and was a bridge and embroidery fiend.
"And I shall be left to sit around," says Vee, "bored stiff."
I knew it wasn't just a whim of hers; for one evening along towards the
last, I found her with her eyelids red.
"Been cryin'?" I asks.
"A little," says Vee. "Silly thing to do when one's packing."
"See here, Vee," says I; "I ought to be doing something about this."
"But you can't," says she. "No one can. I must trot along with
Auntie, just as I always have, and stay until--until she's ready to
come back."
"Then it'll be a case of movin' on somewhere for the summer, I
expect--Nova Scotia or Iceland?" says I.
Vee nods and lets out a sigh.
"If we was a pair of wild ducks, now," says I.
At which she snickers kind of hysterical and--well, it's the first time
I ever knew her to do the sob act. Also I'd never been quite sure
before that I was much more to her than sort of an amusin' pal. But
when she grips me around the neck that way, and snuggles her head of
straw-colored hair down on my necktie, and just naturally cuts loose
for a good cry--say, then I knew.
[Illustration: "Then she grips me around the neck, and snuggles her
head down on my necktie--say, then I knew."]
I knew it was to be me and Vee from then on. I ain't givin' it any
fancy name. We ain't either of us the mushy kind, I hope. But I felt
that she needed me to stand by, that I could be of some use. That was
thrillin' and wonderful enough for me. And as I folded her in gentle
and let her turn the sprinkler on a brand-new plaid silk scarf that I'd
just put up a dollar for, I set my jaw firm and says to myself,
"Torchy, here's where you quit the youths' department for good. Into
the men's section for you, and see that you act the part."
"Vee," I whispers, "leave it to me. I didn't know just where I stood
before. But I'm out of the trance now, and I'm set for action. Leave
it to me."
"All right, Torchy," says she a bit choky, but tryin' to work up a
smile. "You can do nothing, though."
Couldn't I? Maybe not. I was out to make a stab, anyway. There was a
couple of days left before the steamer sailed, and I'd just passed a
resolution that Vee was to stay behind. Beyond that my program was
vague. After I'd walked a dozen blocks it begun to get clearer. My
first stop was at the Ellins house; and when I'd succeeded in
convincin' the new butler that it was no good tryin' to stall me off,
I'm led into the lib'ry, where Old Hickory is sittin' in front of the
big marble fireplace, half way through his second cigar. What I puts
up to him is when I can realize on my share of the pirate loot.
"Why," says he, "the dealers haven't made a report as yet, but if you
wish an advance I should be happy to--"
"To-morrow?" says I.
"Certainly," says he. "Say five thousand--ten--"
"Make it five," says I. "May I call up Mr. Robert from here?"
Mrs. Robert Ellins tells me this is his night at the club, so all I has
to do is hop a Fifth Avenue stage, and in less'n twenty minutes he's
broke away from his billiard game and is listenin' while I state the
situation to him.
"Course," says I, "it would bump Auntie some, but seems to me it's
comin' to her."
"Quite a reasonable conclusion," says he.
"It ain't as if she needed Vee," I goes on. "She's just got in the
habit of havin' her 'round. That might be all right, too, if she
didn't have the travel bug so bad. But with her keepin' on the wing so
constant-- Well, I'm no bloomin' sea-gull. And when you're engaged,
this long-distance stuff ought to be ruled out. It's got to be."
"The way you suggest ought to accomplish that," says Mr. Robert.
"What sticks me is where to camp down afterwards," says I. "I've been
lookin' around some, but--"
"By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, slappin' his knee. "Who was it that was
bothering me just after dinner? Waddy Crane! He's been pretending to
be an artist, you know; but now he's got hold of his money, it's all
off. He's going to start a bandbox theater in Chicago, elevate the
drama, all that sort of thing. And that studio apartment of his up in
the Fifties would be the very thing for you two. Wants to unload the
lease and furnishings. Oh, Waddy has excellent taste in rugs and old
mahogany. And it will be a rare bargain; I shall see to that. What do
you say?"
Bein' in the plungin' mood, I said I'd take a chance.
"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "I'll have it all arranged before midnight.
But when and where does the--er--affair come off?"
"I'm just plottin' that out," says I. "Could I sort of count on you
and Mrs. Ellins for to-morrow evenin', say?"
"At your service," says Mr. Robert.
"Then I'll think up a place and see if I can pull it," says I.
If it hadn't been for that little detail of visitin' the license bureau
I wouldn't have sprung it on Vee until the last minute. As it is, I
has to toll her downtown with a bid to luncheon, and then I suggests
visitin' City Hall. She's wise in a minute, too.
"It's no use, Torchy," says she. "I've promised Auntie that, whatever
else I did, I would never run away to be married."
And there my grand little scheme is shot full of holes, all in a
second. When I get headway on like I had then, though, I just don't
know when I'm blocked. I swallows hard once or twice, and then shrugs
my shoulders.
"Let's get the license, anyway," says I.
"What's the sense?" asks Vee.
"I can have it to read over, can't I?" says I. "That'll help some.
Besides-- Ah, come on, Vee! Be a sport. Didn't you say you'd leave
it to me?"
"But I can't break my promise, Torchy," says she.
"That's right," says I, "and I wouldn't ask you to. Let's take the
subway."
I won; and when I put her in a taxi an hour later she was still
blushin' from answerin' questions. I had that paper with the city seal
on it in my inside pocket, though. My next job is on the Reverend
Percey, the one who did the job for Mr. Robert the time I stage-managed
his impromptu knot-tyin'. Course, I couldn't sign him up for anything
definite, but I got a schedule of his spare time from six o'clock on,
and where he would be.
"But I--I don't quite understand," says he, starin' puzzled through his
glasses. "You say you are uncertain whether my services will be--"
"Now listen, Percey," says I. "I'm the most uncertain party at the
present writing that you ever saw. But if I should 'phone, I want you
to answer the call like a deputy chief goin' to a third alarm. Get
that? And I'm payin' time and a half for every minute after dark.
See?"
Maybe that wasn't just the way to hire a reverend, but I was too rushed
to think up the proper frills. I had to attend to a lot of little
things, among 'em bein' this plant with Auntie's cruisin' friend, the
widow. She was in the habit, Mrs. Mumford was, of pickin' Auntie up
now and then for an evenin' drive in her limousine; and what I was
tryin' to suggest was that this would be a swell night for it.
"But I don't see how I can," says she, cooin' as usual. "Mrs.
Hemmingway is to be a guest at a going-away dinner, and may not be home
until late."
"Eh?" says I. "Why, that's fine--I mean, for Auntie. Ripping, eh,
what? Much obliged."
The foxy old girl. She'd never mentioned it. And if I hadn't found
out just as I-- But I did. It simplifies things a lot. That is, it
would unless-- Here I grabs the 'phone again and calls up Vee.
"Auntie's going out to dinner to-night," says I.
"Yes, I know," says Vee. "She has just told me. I am not included."
"Then whisper," says I. "Revise that wardrobe trunk of yours like you
expected a cold winter in Jamaica. Have a bag ready, too, and a
traveling dress handy."
"But why, Torchy?" she insists.
"Leave it to me," says I. "We'll be up about 8:30."
"We?" she asks.
"Now be good," says I, "and you may be happy. Also get busy."
You see, I figured that what she didn't know she couldn't worry about,
nor discuss with Auntie. Besides, it was all too hazy in my head for
me to sketch it out very clear to anyone.
Honest, I don't see now how I kept from gettin' things bugged, for I
sure was crashin' ahead reckless. I felt like I'd been monkeyin' with
a flyin' machine until I'd got it started and had been caught somewhere
in the riggin' with nobody at the wheel. But I was glad of it.
Mr. Robert helped out wonderful. When I stops packin' my suitcase long
enough to remark, "But say, if it does work, where am I headed for?"
he's right there with the useful information.
"Here!" says he. "Your tickets and drawing-room reservation. It's a
nice little place up in Vermont--quiet, refined, comfortable, all that
sort of thing. Train at 10:45."
"Oh!" says I. "Then that's all right. Lemme see, where's that other
sock?"
Say, I'd even forgot who all I'd asked to be on hand. That was what I
was checkin' up when I rode past Auntie's floor on the elevator. I
finds Vee some excited and more or less curious.
"Please," says she, "what is it all about?"
"It's a little game," says I, "entitled ditching Jamaica. There'll be
some of our friends here directly to join in."
"Torchy," says Vee, starin' a bit scared, "you--you mean that-- Anyway,
I should change my frock, I suppose?"
"If you do," says I, "couldn't you make it that pink one, with the
flimsy pink hat?"
"You goose!" says she. "If you like, though. Why, there is someone
now!"
"That'll be Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins," says I. "You'll have to show
speed."
Trust Vee. Just the' same, I don't know where there's another girl
that could dress for the big event in less'n half an hour, while the
guests was arrivin'. Next came Mr. Robert's sister, Marjorie, towin'
her Ferdie along. Aunt Zenobia and my Uncle Kyrle and Aunt Martha
breezed in soon after, with Old Hickory and Mrs. Ellins right behind
'em. Then Piddie, who'd put on his evenin' clothes over in Jersey at
5:30 and had been on the trolley most of the time since.
No, it wasn't a big mob, but it was a heap better than havin' some
Connecticut parson call in wifie and the hired girl, as I'd first
planned it.
And prompt at 9:30 the Reverend Percey shows up, some out of breath
from his dash across from the subway, but ready to shoot his lines as
soon as he got his hat off. While he didn't quite have to do that, we
didn't waste much time on settin' the stage.
"Come on, Vee," says I, takin' her by the hand. "How about over there
in our old window alcove, eh? Tum tum-te-tum!"
She holds back just a second. Then she tosses her chin up, smiles
brave at me, and gives my fingers a squeeze. Say, she's some girl.
Another minute and the Reverend Percey is off with a flyin' start. He
ain't so husky to look at, but he booms out the "Wilt-thou" stuff real
impressive and solemn, part of the time peekin' over his glasses at the
folks behind, and then lookin' earnest at us. For an off-hand
performance I call it a good job. And almost before I knew it was
under way it's all over.
"Well, Vee," says I, plantin' a smack in the right place, "we've done
it!"
"I--I wish Auntie knew," says she.
"But she does," says Mr. Robert. "At Torchy's request I have just
called her up. She will be here in less than half an hour."
"With her blessin'--or what?" I asks.
"As to that," says Mr. Robert, "I am not informed."
Anyway, we had time to brace ourselves. Vee had only finished changing
and the bags was bein' sent down to the taxi when in she comes.
"Young man--" she begins.
But I heads her off.
"Why, Auntie!" says I, lettin' on to be surprised, and holdin' out both
hands. "You don't know how we missed you. Honest! All my fault,
though. But say, with your stickin' to that years-and-years idea, what
else could we do--I ask you?"
And then I notices that them straight-cut mouth corners of hers ain't
set near so hard as I thought. Her eyes ain't throwin' off sparks,
either. They're sort of dewy, in fact. And when she does speak again
there's a break in her voice.
"Come," says she, beckonin' us up. "Perhaps you know best, after all,
you silly children."
I'll bet we made a fine group, too, the three of us, Auntie in the
middle, givin' us the fond clinch.
"But such impudence of you, to do it right here!" she goes on. "No one
but you, Torchy, would have thought of that."
"Had to," says I, "with everything else barred. I suspected it might
bump you some, but--"
"Pardon me," breaks in Mr. Robert, "but it's time for you to start for
your train."
"Train!" says Vee. "Torchy, where are we going?"
"Just a sec.," says I, "till I look at the tickets."
So the last I heard from Auntie was a gasp.