FROSTING THE PROFESS
Chee! but I'm gettin' to be useful! Course, I don't figure out no awful
slump in Corrugated stocks if I should get pettish some day and tell 'em
they'd got to find a new office boy. That ain't the kind of shredded
thought I'm feedin' on. I fit into a lot of places besides the chair
behind the brass gate. Why, I have to put on a sub. three or four times
a week, while I'm spreadin' myself out all over the lot.
It all come of their makin' me special messenger to the boss; for since
old Mr. Ellins has been laid up with toothache in his knee joints
they've been chasin' me up to the Fift'-ave. ranch, with mail, and blank
bonds to be signed, and such truck. And that's how I came to get so
thick with Marjorie.
I was waitin' in the front hall, pipin' off the gorgerifousness, when
some one pushes in through the draperies L. U. E. and I'm discovered.
And, say, she was a magnum, all right! You know the sort of pippins they
pick out to hang up by a string in the fruit store window? Well, that
was her style. Big? She'd fit close in a Morris chair! And she didn't
look more'n eighteen or nineteen, either. For all her width, she was
built on good lines, and if she'd been divided up right there'd been
enough for a pair of as good lookers as you'd want to see.
"O-o-o-o!" says she as she comes in. "See who's here!"
I never says a word, but just twists my toes around the chair legs and
looks into my hat. Not that I'm any afraid of girls; but I wa'n't
feelin' so much to home there as I do in some places, and I didn't want
to make any break. But she wouldn't let it go at that.
"O-o-o-o!" says she again, and as I squints up at her I sees the reg-lar
cut-up looks just bubblin' out.
"G'wan!" says I. "I ain't no curiosity."
"Oh, it is Torchy then, isn't it?" says she.
"You don't think this is a wig I'm wearin', do you?" says I. That's what
I got to expect with hair like mine. The minute my description's given
out everybody's on.
She giggles and says that Brother Robert's been telling her about me.
"I'm Marjorie, you know," says she.
"Well," says I, lookin' her over careful, "you'll do."
I meant it. Mr. Robert's only fair sized; but old man Ellins is a whale,
and I was thinkin' of him when I said that Marjorie was up to
specifications. She seems to think I've handed out a lump of
butterscotch, though, and we gets real chatty.
I don't know what kind of fairy yarns Mr. Robert's been tearin' off at
home about me; but from the start she treats me like I was one of the
fam'ly. And Marjorie was just as nice as she was heavy. She didn't try
to carry any dog; but just blazes ahead and spiels out the talk. I get
next to the fact that she's just home from one of them swell boardin'
schools, where they pump French and music into young lady plutesses at a
dollar a minute, and throw in lessons on how to say "Home, Francois!" to
the chaffeur. This was some kind of a vacation Marjorie was havin', and
she was doin' her best to make every hour count.
Knowin' all that helped me to keep from bein' so much jarred by her next
move. It was a couple of days after, on a Wednesday, and we'd got real
well acquainted, when Marjorie spots me as I was headin' back for the
office after leavin' some things for the boss.
"Torchy," says she, "where's Robert? What was he doing when you left?"
"Give it up," says I. "And, anyway, I ain't supposed to know."
"I'll bet you do, though," says she. "Couldn't you guess?"
"If I did," says I, "I'd guess that he'd just made a run of ten or
twelve and was pushin' up the buttons on the string."
"I don't know what that means," says she.
"Well," says I, "it means that maybe he's playin' billiards at the
club."
"Oh, darn!" says she, real wicked.
It turns out that Brother Robert has said he'd take sister to the
matinee that afternoon, and the date has got clean by him. She wants to
go the worst way, too. Mother wasn't handy, Aunty May had the icebag on
her head, and there wasn't anyone else within reach. Accordin' to the
rules, there'd got to be some one.
"Torchy," says she, "I don't see why you couldn't take me, as well as
anyone else."
"Thanks," says I, "but I don't want to earn my release that way. I've
got 'em trained down to the office so they'll stand for a lot; but me
ringin' in a matinee durin' business hours would sure break the spell."
"Oh, pshaw!" says she. "I can fix that part of it," and off she goes, up
to see puppah.
If she'd come back and said the old man was havin' a fit on the floor, I
wouldn't have been any surprised. But, say, Marjorie must have a pull
accordin' to her weight; for inside of four minutes she comes skippin'
down the front stairs, makin' the gas globes rattle and jigglin' the
pictures on the wall.
"It's all right," says she. "Father says you're to telephone Mr. Piddie
that you won't be back, and then you're to see that I get to the theater
and home again without being kidnapped. I'll be ready in ten minutes."
It was a shame, though, that I missed seein' Piddie when he got the
word. All I could hear was a gasp, like he'd been butted just above the
belt, and then he hung up the receiver. I expect I'll send him to the
nerve repair shop some day.
But you should have seen me and Marjorie sittin' on the broadcloth
cushions and bein' carted down to the theater. I swelled up all I could;
but at that I wa'n't much more'n a dot on the landscape. There's times
when I feel real chesty and can hear my feet make a noise when I walk;
but this wa'n't one of 'em. And when it came to paradin' down the middle
row after the usher, with Marjorie puffin' behind, I felt like one of
them dinky little river tugs towin' a floatin' grain elevator. I was
lookin' for the house to let loose a "Ha-ha!" It didn't, though. They
expect most anything to drift into them afternoon shows.
"Say, Miss Ellins," says I, after she'd squeezed herself into her place,
pinned her feather lid up in front of her, and opened the choc'late
creams, "I've been in such a dream I didn't look at the outside boards
or get a programme. What's doin'--variety or a tumpy-tump show?"
"Why," says she, "this is Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet.'"
"Z-z-z-zing!" says I. "Stung again! Who unloaded the tickets on you?"
What d'ye think, though? She'd picked this show out all by herself, put
up real money for it--and that with two Injun drammers runnin' right on
Broadway! Said she'd seen the same thing half a dozen times before, too.
Aw, say! I couldn't get next to any such batty move as that. And when I
thought how this was my first plunge into a two-dollar chair, it made me
sore.
"Wake me up when it's all over," says I, and settles back for a real
rest.
There's where I hung out the wrong number. That wa'n't any dope drammer
at all. Course, Shakespeare don't know how to ring in burnin' flat
houses, or mill explosions, or any real thrillers like that; but there's
somethin' doin' in his pieces. There was in this one, anyway. It was
quite some time before I got any glimmer of what it was all about; but
before the first act was over I was sittin' up, all right.
"What do you think of her?" says Marjorie.
"The one with the Maxine Elliott eyes and the gushy voice?" says I. "Oh,
I don't call her such a much; but if Romeo wants her as bad as he says
he does, I hope it won't be a case of 'My pa won't let me.' But, say,
what for did they kill off the only real live one they had, that Mr.
Cuteo? Say, he was all to the good, and it was a shame to have him
punctured so quick!"
The parts I liked, though, wa'n't the ones that Marjorie got herself
worked up over. It was the balcony scene she'd come for. When they got
to that she grips the seat in front and glues her eyes on them two that
was swappin' the long, lingerin' breakaway tackles, and every once in
awhile she heaves up a sigh like cuttin' out an airbrake.
After it was all over, and most everybody that counted had swallowed
knockout drops, Marjorie gives me a sidelight on what's been runnin'
through her head.
"I could do that," says she. "I just know I could!"
"Do what?" says I.
"Why, Juliet's part. I've been studying it for months, ever since our
class gave it at school. They wouldn't give me a part then; but just you
wait! I'll show them!"
"You're joshin'," says I.
Honest, I didn't think she meant it. She didn't say any more about it,
and all the way home she was as quiet as a bale of hay.
That was the last I see of Marjorie for near a week. Then, one afternoon
as I was goin' through Tinpan Alley on an errand, I sees the Ellins
carriage pull up, and out she comes.
Now, say, I knew in a minute that wa'n't any place for Marjorie. The
buildin' she goes into is one of them old five-story brownstones, where
they sell wigs in the basement, costumes on the first floor, have a
theatrical agency on the second, and give voice culture and such stuff
above. Among the other signs was one that read, "School of Dramatic Art,
Room 9, Fifth Floor."
"Chee!" says I. "You don't suppose Marjorie's got it that bad, do you?"
First off I thinks I'll chase along and forget I'd seen anything at all.
Then I thinks of what Mr. Robert would say if he knew, and I stops.
Sure, I hadn't been called to play any Buttinsky part; but somehow I
didn't feel right about stayin' out, so the first thing I knows I'm
trailin' up the stairs. There wa'n't any need to do the sleuth act after
Marjorie got started. Anyone on the floor could have heard it; for she
was spoutin' the Juliet lines like a carriage caller, and whenever she
made a rush to the footlights the floor beams creaked. It was enough to
drag a laugh out of a hearse driver. And guess what the guy was tellin'
her!
"Great!" says he. "You're almost as good as Mary Anderson was at her
best, and as for Marlowe, she can't touch you. Excellent, that last
speech! What fire, what expression, what talent! Why, young woman, all
you need is a Broadway production to sweep 'em off their feet! I'll
arrange it for you. It means money, of course; but after the first
cost--fame, nothing but fame!"
Now, how was that for a hot-air blast? Wouldn't that make a short ice
crop if you let it loose up the Hudson?
But it wa'n't what he said, so much as how he was sayin' it, that got me
int'rested. There's some voices you don't have to hear but once to
remember a lifetime, an this was one of that kind. It was one of these
husky baritones, like what does the coonsongs for the punky records they
put into the music boxes at the penny arcades. That was as near as I
could map it for a minute or so while I was tryin' to throw up the
picture of the man behind the voice. And, then it hits me--Professor
Booth McCallum!
Oh, skincho, what a front! Why, when I was on the Sunday editor's door
the professor used to show up reg'lar with some new scheme for winnin'
space. Talk about your self-acting press agents! He had the bunch shoved
to the curb. All he had to bank on was a ten-minute turn at a 14th-st.
continuous house, fillin' in between the trained pig and the strong
lady; but he wanted as much type set about himself as if he'd been Dave
Warfield.
When he couldn't get next to anybody else, he used to give me the
earache tellin' of the times when he played stock in one of Daly's road
comp'nies, and how he had to quit because John Drew was jealous of him.
Then he'd leave his stuff with me and I'd promise to sneak it into the
dramatic notes the first time I found the forms unlocked.
And to think of a hamfatter like McCallum, who's come back from Buffalo
on a brake beam so often that he always sleeps with one arm crooked
around the bedpost, havin' the nerve to call himself a school of
dramatic art! Course, I didn't think Marjorie was so easy as to fall for
a fake like that. She must be stringin' him.
But the minute I see her come out I knew she'd swallowed the hook. I'd
dropped back into the far end of the hall, where it was dark; but as she
walks under the skylight I sees the pleased look on her face, like she
was havin' a view of her lithographs on all the gold frames in the
subway. I waits until McCallum shuts himself in to throw bouquets at his
picture in the glass, and then I slips down just in time to catch
Marjorie as she's climbin' into the carriage.
"Is this the lady that's entered for the heavyweight Juliet
championship?" says I, tryin' to break the news to her gentle.
It shook her up a good deal, just the same. Her face gets the color of
an auction flag, and she jounces down on the seat in a way that makes
the springs flat out like bed slats.
"Why, Torchy!" says she. "Where did you come from, and what do you
mean?"
"Oh, I've taken out a butt-in license," says I. "I'm on, Miss Ellins. I
wa'n't invited to the rehearsal; but I was there."
"Listening outside?" says she.
"Uh-huh," says I.
"Oh, Torchy!" says she. "Did you hear how lovely the professor talked of
the way I did it?"
"About your havin' Julia Marlowe sewed in a sack? Sure thing," says I.
"But you mustn't tell anyone," says she.
"I wouldn't want the job," says I. "I can draw a diagram of the riot
there'll be when mommer and popper get the bulletin."
"I don't care," says Marjorie. "They never want me to do anything. It's
always, 'Oh, Marjorie, you're too big.' In summer I can't go bathing
because they say I'm a sight in a bathing suit, and in winter they won't
let me skate because they're afraid I'll break through. The boys won't
dance with me, and the girls shut me out of basketball. But Professor
McCallum has been perfectly dear. He said right away that I wasn't a bit
too stout to be an actress. I'm not, either! Why, I weigh less than two
hundred, with my jacket off; honest, I do! He liked my voice, too. And
this was only my third lesson. Anyway, I'd just love to play Juliet, and
I mean to do it!"
Well, say, that was a proposition to give you a headache. I couldn't go
runnin' to Mr. Robert or the boss with any tales about Miss Marjorie.
That ain't what I'm on the payroll for. But I couldn't let McCallum play
a friend of mine for a good thing; so I just opens up on him.
"Why," says I, "he's a never was. Maybe he used to carry a spear, or
play double-up parts on the haymow circuit; but that's about all. He's a
common, everyday, free lunch frisker, Mac is. I used to know all about
him when I was in the newspaper business; so this is a straight steer.
He's just tollin' you along because he's had a dream that if he gets you
real stuck on yourself you'll come across with two or three thousand for
expenses and will be too tender-hearted to squeal afterwards. That's his
game, and all you've got to do to queer it is to send him ten and say
the folks object."
That's about the way I put it, drawin' it as strong as I knew how. Does
Marjorie see the point and heave up any thanks about my bein' her true
friend? Not her! She calls me impid'nt and says she's got a good mind to
box my ears right there. So it was up to me to calm her down.
"All right, Miss Marjorie," says I. "If I've said anything I can't
prove, I'll take it back; but if you'll follow me upstairs again for a
minute, and wait outside in the hall, I'll have a little talk with the
professor that'll settle it one way or the other."
No, she wouldn't do it, and she didn't want me ever to speak to her
again. I was too fresh, I was!
"Then I guess I'll have to send Mr. Robert up to engage seats for that
Juliet stab of yours," says I, makin' a play to move off.
It was a bluff; but it fetched her. She was willin' to do 'most anything
if I wouldn't tell Brother Robert; so back we goes up to the acting
school on the top floor. I left her leanin' up against the wall, right
near the open transom, and makes a break for McCallum.
He was right there, too. He's one of these short-legged, ham-faced gents
that's almost as tall when he's sittin' down as when he's standin' up. A
neck that takes a No. 18 turn-down collar goes with that. He has his
hands in his pockets, an Egyptian joss-stick in his mouth, and he's
straddlin' up and down, as satisfied with himself as if he'd just cashed
a ticket on the right horse.
"Hello, profess!" says I. "I spots your name on the sign; so I takes the
foot elevator up to see how you're comin' on."
"Quite right, son," says he, "quite right."
He didn't need any whizz plane then to beat the Curtiss record. He was
soarin', soarin,' and too busy with it to take much notice of me.
"You ain't been round to the office lately," says I, lettin' on I was
still with the paper.
"No, son," says he; "but you can inform your dramatic man down there
that if he wants an important piece of news he'd better come and see
me," and with that he taps his chest like he was stunnin' the gallery.
"Thought you looked like happy days, professor," says I. "What's it
like? You ain't been takin' on any swell pupils, have you?"
"Haven't I, though?" says he, stickin' his thumbs in his vest pockets
and comin' up on his toes as if he was goin' to crow. "Haven't I?"
"Say, Mac," says I confidential, "that wasn't her I saw drivin' off in
the private buggy as I come in, was it--the wide one?"
"That was her," says he, "the new Juliet."
"Juliet!" says I. "Aw, you're kiddin'! Honest, professor, do Juliets
come as heavy as that?"
Then he winks. I could see he was just bustin' to let it out to some
one, and here was his chance. "Son," says he, "when young ladies have
the price to pay for such luxuries as the cultivation of a dramatic
talent that doesn't exist, size doesn't count. I've coached a Hamlet
with lop ears and a pug nose, a Lady of Lyons that had a face you could
chop wood with, and I guess I'm not going to draw the line at a Juliet
whose father is president of a trust, even if she is something of a baby
elephant!"
I heard the wall crack at that, and I suspected Marjorie'd got a shock.
"Can she act any?" says I.
"Act!" says he. "It's enough to make the angels weep to see her try.
Imagine, my boy, a one hundred and thirty-pound Romeo trying to hug his
way around a two hundred and fifty-pound Juliet! Why, we'd have to prop
up the balcony with a structural iron pillar and----"
It was too bad to have the flow stopped, for he was enjoyin' himself;
but just then the door was jerked open and in rushes Marjorie, her eyes
blazin', her face white, and so mad she couldn't speak. As she looms up
in the door, lookin' bigger'n ever, she was diggin' somethin' out of her
handbag, somethin' shiny. It wa'n't anything but a silver purse; but
the professor must have thought it was somethin' else, for he gives only
one look. Then he throws up both hands, hollers "Don't shoot, don't
shoot!" and makes a dive under a desk in the corner. The hole under that
desk wa'n't built for divin' through; so McCallum wedges himself in
there like a cork in a bottle, wavin' his legs in the air, and callin'
for help.
"There!" says Marjorie, throwin' some bills on the floor. "That's for
what I owe you, you horrid old fraud! Baby elephant, am I? Oh, you
wretch!" With that she goes out and bangs the door behind her.
It was all me and the cornet artist next door could do to separate
McCallum from the desk, and even when we worked him loose he didn't want
to come out. When we'd got him into a chair, and he'd felt himself all
over careful, he says to me:
"Torchy, how--how many times did she shoot?"
And when I gets back to the office Mr. Robert wants to know why I didn't
let 'em know I was goin' all the way to Washington after them stamps.
"Chee!" says I, "but you're gettin' restless! Maybe you think I oughter
travel by pneumatic tube? Huh!"