IN ON THE OOLONG
Course it was a cinch; but Piddie ain't got done wonderin' yet how I did
it. I can tell that by the puzzled way he has of lookin' me over when he
thinks I ain't noticin'.
You see, we'd been havin' a quiet week at the Corrugated. This fine
spell of weather has braced Old Hickory up until he almost forgets how
he's cast himself for the great grouch collector. Things must have been
runnin' smooth, too; for he can even read about the Return from Elba
plans without chuckin' the mornin' paper into the waste basket and
gettin' purple behind the ears.
Then, all of a sudden here the other afternoon, Piddie comes trottin'
out of the private office all flustered up and begins pawin' excited
through the big bond safe. He's hardly got started at that before there
comes three rings on the buzzer for him, and he trots back to see what
the old man wants now. Next there are hurry calls for the general
auditor and the head of the contract department, and before Mr. Ellins
gets through he's had every chief in the shop up on the carpet and put
'em through the third degree. Way out by my gate I could hear him layin'
down the law to 'em, and they comes out lookin' wild and worried.
Which don't get me excited any at all. I worked in the newspaper office
too long and saw too many Sunday editions go to press for that. So when
I hears him yell for me I don't jump over the desk and get goose flesh
up the back. I keeps right on snappin' rubber bands at the spring water
bottle until he's shouted a couple more times. Then I winks at the row
of lady typists and strolls in, calm and easy.
"Yes, sir?" says I.
"See here, boy!" says he. "Do you happen by any chance to know where
that son of mine might be found at this moment?"
"Mr. Robert?" says I. "Nix."
"No, of course you don't!" says Old Hickory, glarin' at me. "No one
around this precious asylum for undeveloped cerebellums seems to know
anything they ought to. Bah!"
"Yes, sir," says I.
"Don't grin at me that way!" he snaps. "Get out! No, stay where you are!
If you don't know where Robert is, where do you think he might be
found?"
"Tried any of his clubs?" says I.
He had, all of 'em. Also he'd had him paged through four hotel grill
rooms and called up three brokers' offices.
"Well, if he ain't havin' a late lunch, or playin' billiards, or
watchin' the stock board, I give it up," says I. "Maybe you've noticed
that Mr. Robert ain't been in many afternoons lately."
"Huh! Perhaps I haven't, though!" grunts Old Hickory. "But this time it
is important that he should be here. Young man, you seem to have less
wool on your wits than most of the office force; so I am going to
confide to you that unless we find Robert before four-thirty o'clock
this afternoon the Corrugated Trust Company will lose a lot of money."
"Oh, if it's a case of savin' the next dividend," says I, "I'll take
another think. I expect you asked for him at the house?"
"He was there at one-fifteen and left twenty minutes later," says Mr.
Ellins.
"Yes; but what kind of clothes was he wearin'?" says I.
"Clothes!" snorts out Old Hickory. "What the blithering----"
"Lemme ask his man," says I, grabbin' the desk 'phone. "Plaza--yes,
Plaza, double O double three sixty-one. Sure! You got it. Say, Mr.
Ellins, that butler of yours don't burn the carpet movin' fast, does he?
He must----Hello! I want to talk to Walters. Ah, never mind who I am,
switch him on!" And inside of two minutes I have the report. "Frock coat
and silk lid," says I. "See? Society date."
"Huh!" says the old man. "That settles it. He's tagging around after
that young lady violinist again. Might have guessed; for since she's
come back from Paris he has taken about as much interest in business as
a cat does in astronomy. But to-morrow morning we'll----"
"Say," I breaks in, "if it's a case of young lady, why not locate her
and then scout for Mr. Robert in the neighborhood? That ought to be
easy."
"Think so?" says he. "Well, young man, you have my permission to tackle
the job. Her name is Inez Webster. I don't know where she lives, or with
whom she's staying; but she's somewhere in New York. Now, how will you
begin?"
"By rubberin' at Mr. Robert's date pad," says I.
"Good!" says Old Hickory. "No one else thought of that," and he leads
the way in and unlocks Mr. Robert's rolltop. "Now what do those
scratches mean?"
"I. W. 2:15," says I, readin' it off. "The arrow points to Inez. He must
be with her now."
"Wherever that is!" growls Mr. Ellins. "Go on."
"Say, lemme think a minute," says I, slippin' into the swing chair and
doin' the Sherlock gaze at the desk.
"Oh, certainly!" says he, snappy and sarcastic. "Take a nap over it!
Plenty of time!" and with that he pads back into his office and slams
the door.
Now I didn't like pawin' through the pigeon-holes or drawers; but when I
happens to glance at the waste basket I feels more at home. In a jiffy I
has it dumped on the rug. There was an empty cigarette box, the usual
collection of circulars, a dozen torn business letters, and so on. It
looked like a hopeless hunt, too, until I runs across this invitation
card announcin' that the Misses Pulsifer will be at home from
two-fifteen until five-thirty. There's a Fort Washington Road address,
and down in one corner it says "music." Also to-day's the day.
"Whoop!" says I, stowin' away the card. "Me for the Misses Pulsifers' on
a long shot. Hey, Mr. Ellins!" I shouts, stickin' my head in the door.
"Can I draw two bones for expense money? I'm on the trail."
"The blazes you are!" says he.
"Yep," says I. "Mebbe it's a false scent; but if I find him what's the
message?"
"Just ask Robert," says he, "if it has occurred to him that those P. K.
& Q. contract copies have got to be filed with the bonding company this
afternoon. That's all."
"Right!" says I. "P. K. & Q. contracts. I'm off."
Ever get as far up into the northwest corner of the island as Fort
Washington Road? Then you know how many blocks it is from the nearest
subway station. Not havin' time for a half-hour stroll, I takes a
Broadway express, jumps it at 157th, hunts up a taxi, and turns down the
red flag.
"Now don't try zigzaggin' around to roll up mileage," says I to the
shuffer; "but beat it straight there."
Some swell places up in that neck of Manhattan, what? Why, some of them
folks has so much back yard they keep their own cow. When we rolls in
through a pair of big stone gates I begin to suspect that the Misses
Pulsifers was lady plutes for fair, and the size of the house had me
stunned.
"I'm swell lookin' front door comp'ny, I am," thinks I, handin' over a
dollar thirty to the taxi pirate and paradin' in across the red carpet.
"Now what is it I tell the butler when he pushes out his tray?"
All the guard they has on the door, though, is a French maid, and when
she starts to look me over suspicious I shoves the invitation card at
her.
"Say, Marie," says I, "where's the doin's?"
"Pardon?" says she. "What you wish?"
"Ah, where do they keep the music?" says I.
"Ze musicale?" says she. "It is commence. S-s-s-sh!" and she points down
the hallway.
"Yes, I was afraid I'd be late," says I. "Glad they didn't wait. I'll
sneak into a back seat."
Did I? Well, say, I didn't know what I was runnin' into; for as I pushes
through some draperies I finds myself on the side lines of the biggest
herd of girls I ever saw collected in one room before. Why, there was
rows and rows of 'em, all in white dresses, and the minute I steps in
about two hundred pairs of eyes revolves my way.
Talk about jumpin' into the limelight! I felt like I'd wandered out on
the stage while the big scene was goin' on. Then comes the giggles, and
business with the elbows of passin' the nudge along. They all forgets
what's doin' up on the platform by the piano and pays strict attention
to me. Blush? Say, I'll bet my ears ain't got back their reg'lar color
yet!
Seemed like my feet was stuck to the floor, too. Maybe it was an hour I
stood there, and maybe it was only a minute; but at last I takes one
wild look around over that girl convention and then I backs out. I'd
seen him, though. Way over by an open window on the other side was Mr.
Robert, one of the four men in that whole crowd. So out the front door I
rushes and then tiptoes around the veranda until I came to him.
And he wa'n't gazin' around watchin' for casual butters-in. Not Mr.
Robert! All he's seein' is the slim young lady standin' up on the
platform with the violin tucked under her chin. You couldn't blame him
much, either; for, while I ain't any judge of the sort of music she was
teasin' out of the strings, I'll say this much: The way she was doin' it
was well worth watchin'. The swing of that elbow of hers, and the
Isadora Duncan sway of her shoulders as she hits the high notes sure did
have some class to it. He's so busy followin' her motions that he don't
even know when I leans in within six inches of him and whispers. So I
has to give him the gentle prod.
"Eh!" says he, whirlin' around. "Why, what the--Torchy!"
"Uh-huh," says I. "Crawl out backwards, can't you?"
"Wha--what's that!" says he, whisperin' sort of husky.
"You got to do it," says I. "I was sent up special to get you."
"Why, what's the matter?" says he.
"P. K. & Q. contracts," says I. "Did you file 'em yet?"
"By Jove, no!" he groans under his breath. "I--I forgot."
"Then it's a case of beat it," says I.
"But--but I can't!" says Mr. Robert. "I can't possibly leave now, right
in the middle of----"
"That's so," says I. "She's lookin' this way now. But where'd you stow
the contracts? Remember that, do you?"
"Why, of course," says he. "Third left hand drawer of my desk, in a
document box."
"'S enough!" says I. "I'll 'phone down and tell 'em. They'll fix it up.
Don't move; she's lookin' your way again."
"Wait!" says he, behind his hand. "I must see you before you go back,
after the concert is over. Wait for me in the garden."
"In the garden, Maud, it is," says I, and with that I slides back to the
front entrance and gets Marie to lead me to the 'phone booth.
Well, I'd got the joint all sized up now. It's one of these swell
boardin' schools for girls, where they take piano lessons and are
exposed to French and the German measles. And, now my knees has quit
wabblin' and I was safe out of the hall, I was almost glad I'd come up
and give the young ladies such a treat. I couldn't help admirin' Mr.
Robert's nerve, though; for he must have known what he was lettin'
himself in for when he follows Inez up there. But when they get it that
bad there's no tellin' how reckless they'll be.
If it had been all the same to Mr. Robert, my next move would have been
to get away from the spot as quick as my feet would let me; but so long
as he'd assigned me a waiting part that's what it had to be. With
Marie's help I finds the garden out at the back of the house and makes
myself comf'table on a rustic seat. It's a flossy garden scene, all
right, with winding paths, and flowerbeds, and cute little summer
houses, and all sorts of bushes in bloom. Now and then I could hear
music driftin' out, and when a piece was through the hand clappin' would
commence, like a shower on a tin roof.
Say, it had sittin' behind the brass rail in the office beat to a froth,
and I was enjoyin' it, lazy and comf'table, with my feet up on the bench
and my head back; when all at once there's a big spasm of applause, the
doors openin' on the back veranda are swung open, everybody starts
chatterin' together, there's a swish and a rustle and a clatter of high
heels; and the next thing I knew the whole blamed garden was full of
'em.
Girls! Say, all the fifty-seven varieties was represented,--tall ones,
short ones, thin ones, plump ones, and plain fatties. There was
aristocratic brunettes, and dimpled blondes, and every shade between.
They ranged from fourteen up, and they sported all kinds of hair
dressin', from double pleated braids to the latest thing in turban
swirls. And there was little Willie, hemmed in by a twelve-foot wall on
three sides and solid squads of girls on the fourth!
First they began sailin' by in groups of twos and threes and fours, all
givin' me the goo-goo stare and snickerin'. Honest, you'd thought I was
some kind of a humorous curiosity, specially exhibited for the occasion.
Ain't they the limit, though? And the whispered remarks they passed!
"Why, Madge! Aren't you just killing! Whose brother did you say you
thought----Yes, and so curly, too!"
I try to forget that red thatch of mine most of the time; but this was
no place to practice bein' absent minded. It didn't seem to make any
diff'rence whether I put my hat on or left it off, they were wise to the
ruddy hair. All I could do was to squeeze myself into one corner of the
seat and pretend not to notice 'em. What I wanted most was to stand up
and holler for Mr. Robert. Why in blazes didn't he show up, anyway?
I'd been enjoyin' this gen'ral inspection stunt for four or five
minutes, when maids begun circulatin' among the mob with trays of
sandwiches and plates of chicken salad, and every last one of 'em
stopped at my station.
"No, thanks," says I. Think I wanted to give a food destroyin'
performance before an audience like that? I was just wavin' away the
fourth offer of picnic grub when I hears a little squeal come from a
bunch of new recruits, and when I looks up to see what's happening
now--well, you'd never guess. It's Miss Vee! You know, the pink and
white queen I was tellin' you about meetin' at the swell dancin' class
where I subbed for Izzie in the cloakroom and was invited out to join
the merry throng.
She ain't got the ballroom costume on, of course; but I'd know them big
gray eyes and that straw colored hair and that sweet pea complexion in
any disguise. For a second she stands there gazin' at me sort of
surprised and puzzled, like she didn't know whether to give me the nod
or just put up her chin and sail by. If I could I'd looked the other
way, so's to give her a chance to duck recognizin' me; but I couldn't do
anything but stare back. And the next thing I knew she's comin' straight
for me.
"Why, Torchy!" says she, sort of purry and confidential. "You!" And
blamed if she wa'n't holdin' out both hands.
Well, say, you can't imagine what a diff'rence that makes to me. It was
like fallin' off a roof and landin' in a hammock. What did I care for
that push of young lady fluffs then?
"Sure thing, it's me," says I, grabbin' the hands before she could
change her mind. "Say, have a seat, won't you, Miss Vee?"
"Oh, then you haven't forgotten?" says she.
"Me? Forget?" says I. "Say, Miss Vee, I'll keep right on rememberin'
that spiel we had together until breathin' goes out of fashion--and then
some! Gee! but I'm glad you happened along!"
"But how is it," says she, "that you----"
"Special commission," says I. "I'm waitin' here for Mr. Robert Ellins."
"Oh!" says she. "And have you had some salad and sandwiches?"
"No; but I'm ready for 'em now," says I. "That is, if----Say, you don't
mind doin' this, do you?"
"Why should I?" says she.
"Oh, well," says I, "you see I ain't--well, I'm kind of outclassed here,
and I didn't know but some of the other girls might----"
"Let them dare!" says Miss Vee, straightenin' up and glancin' around
haughty. My! but she's a thoroughbred! There was one group standin' a
little way off watchin' us; but that look of Miss Vee's scattered 'em as
though she'd turned the hose on them. Next minute she was smilin'
again. "You see," she goes on, sittin' close, "I'm not much afraid."
"You're a hummer, you are!" says I, lookin' her over approvin'.
"There, there!" says she. "I see that you must have something to eat
right away. Here, Hortense! There! Now you'll have a cup of tea, won't
you?"
"Anything you pass out goes with me," says I, "even to tea."
It was my first offense in the oolong line, and, honest, I couldn't tell
now how it tasted; but I knew all about how Vee handles a cup and
saucer, though, and the way she has of lookin' at you over the rim. Say,
she's the only girl I ever knew who could talk more'n a minute to a
feller without the aid of giggles. There's some sense to what she has to
say, too, and all the way you can tell whether she's joshin' or not is
by watchin' her eyes. And me, I wa'n't losin' any tricks.
She tells me all about how she's been to school here ever since she was
a little girl. Seems she's as shy on parents as I am; but she has an
aunt that she lives with between school terms. This is her finishin'
year, and as soon as the final doin's are over she and Aunty are due to
sail for Europe.
"Coming back in September?" says I.
"Oh, no indeed!" says she. "Perhaps not for two years."
"Gee!" says I.
"Well?" says she, and I finds myself lookin' square into them big gray
eyes of hers.
"Oh, nothing," says I; "only--only it sounds a long ways off. And, say,
you don't happen to have a spare photo, do you, maybe one taken in that
dress you wore the night of the ball?"
"Silly!" says she. "But suppose I have?"
"Why," says I,--"why, I thought--well, say, it wouldn't do any harm to
leave my new address, would it! That's the number, care of Mrs. Zenobia
Preble."
"Zenobia!" says she. "Why, I know who she is. Do you live with----"
"I'm half adopted already," says I. "Bully old girl, ain't she? And say,
Miss Vee----"
It was just about then I had the feelin' that some one was tryin' to
butt in on this two-part dialogue of ours, and as I looks up, sure
enough there's Mr. Robert, with his eyes wide and his mouth half open,
watchin' us.
"Well, it's all over," says I. "Mr. Robert's waitin' for me. Good luck
and--and----Oh, what's the use? Give my regards to Europe, will you?
Good-by!" And with that we shakes hands and I breaks away.
"I don't wish to seem curious," says Mr. Robert, as we walks out to his
cab, "but--er--is this something recent?"
"Not very," says I. "We've met before."
"Then allow me," says he, "to congratulate you on your good taste."
"Thanks!" says I. "Same to you; and I ain't got so much on you at that,
eh?"
We drops the subject there; but Mr. Robert seems so pleased over
something or other that we'd gone twenty blocks before he remembers what
brought me up.
"Oh, by the way," says he, "I suppose there'll be no end of row about my
forgetting to send down those contracts. The Governor was wild, wasn't
he?"
"He was wild, all right," says I, "without knowin' whether you'd forgot
'em or not."
"But when you 'phoned him," says Mr. Robert, "of course he----"
"Ah, say!" says I. "Do I look like a trouble hunter? I 'phoned
Piddie--told him to sneak 'em out, send 'em down, and keep his mouth
shut. All you got to do is act innocent."
Never mind the hot air Mr. Robert passes out after that. What tickles me
most is the package that came for me yesterday by messenger. I finds it
on my plate at dinner time; so both the old ladies was on hand when I
opens it.
"Why, Torchy!" says Aunt Martha, lookin' at me shocked and scandalized.
"A young lady's picture!"
"Yep," says I. "Ain't she a dream, though?"
And, say, Martha'd been lecturin' me yet if it hadn't been for Zenobia
breakin' in.
"Do remember, Martha," says she, "that you were not always sixty-three
years old, and that once----Why, bless me! This must be Alicia Vernon's
child. Is there a name on the back? There is! Verona Ashton Hemmingway,
heiress to all that is left of poor Dick's fortune. She's a beauty, just
like her mother."
"She's all of that," says I.
It didn't make any diff'rence to Aunt Martha who she was, though. She
didn't think it right for young ladies to give away their pictures to
young men. She was for askin' me how long I'd known Miss Vee, and----
"There, now, Martha," said Zenobia, "suppose we don't."
That's how it is I can guess who it was blew themselves for a corkin'
big silver frame, and put Vee's picture in it, and stood it on my
bureau. Course, Vee's on her way to foreign parts now, and there's no
tellin' when she's comin' back. Besides, there ain't anything in it,
anyway. But somehow that picture in the silver frame seems to help
some.