Chapter 17

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.

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.