Chapter 8

BREAKING ODD WITH MYRA

Next time I'll pay attention. For Vee must have mentioned how this Cousin Myra of hers was comin'. Yes, I remember now. Said something about her being an old-maid niece of Auntie's who was due to drift in from Bermuda or California or somewhere, and that she might stay over a few days.

But it was no solemn warning as it had a right to be. So, by the time I gets this sudden hunch the other night about runnin' up for a little unlisted chat with Vee, I must have forgotten. Not one of my regular evenin's, you understand, nor any special date: I was just takin' a chance. And when the maid tells me Miss Vee and Auntie have gone out for an after-dinner stroll on the Drive, I chucks my new felt-rim straw on the hall table and remarks careless that, as Auntie ain't likely to do any Marathon before bedtime, I guess I'll wait.

Helma grins. "Mees Burr, she in bookrary, yes," says she.

"Oh!" says I. "The cousin? That'll be all the better. Good chance for me to be gettin' in right with her. Tell her what to expect, Helma."

That's the sort of social plunger I am--regular drawing-room daredevil, facin' all comers, passin' out the improvised stuff to strangers, and backin' myself strong for any common indoor event. That is, I was until about 8:13 that evenin'. Then I got in range of them quick-firin' dart throwers belongin' to Miss Myra Burr.

Say, there's some people that shouldn't be allowed at large without blinders on. Myra's one. Her eyes are the stabby kind, worse than long hatpins. Honest, after one glance I felt like I was bein' held up on a fork.

"Ouch!" says I, under my breath. But she must have heard.

"I beg pardon," says she. "Did you say something?"

"Side remark to my elbow," says I. "Must have caught the decreasing as I came through. Excuse it."

"Oh!" says she. "You are the young man who dances such constant attendance on Verona, are you?"

"That's a swell way of puttin' it," says I. "And I suppose you're the--er--"

"I am Miss Burr," says she. "Verona is my cousin."

"Well, well!" says I. "Think of that!"

"Please don't reflect on it too hard," says she, "if you find the fact unpleasant."

"Why--er--" I begins, "I only meant--ah-- Don't let me crash in on your readin', though."

Her thin lips flatten into a straight line--the best imitation of a smile she can work up, I expect--and she turns down a leaf in her magazine. Then she shifts sudden to another chair, where she has me under the electrolier, facin' her, and I knows that I'm let in for something. I could almost hear the clerk callin', "Hats off in the courtroom."

Odd, ain't it, how you can get sensations like that just from a look or two? And with dimmers on them lamps of hers Myra wouldn't have scared anybody. Course, her nose does have sort of a thin edge to it, and her narrow mouth and pointed chin sort of hints at a barbed-wire disposition; but nothing real dangerous.

Still, Myra ain't one you'd snuggle up to casual, or expect to do any hand-holdin' with. She ain't costumed for the part, for one thing. No, hardly. Her idea of an evenin' gown seems to be to kick off her ridin'-boots and pin on a skirt. She still sticks to the white neck-stock; and, the way her hair is parted in the middle and drawn back tight over her ears, she's all fixed to weather a gale. Yes, Myra has all the points of a plain, common-sense female party just taggin' thirty-five good-by.

Not that I puts any of them comments on the record, or works 'em in as repartee. Nothing like that. I may look foolish, but there are times when I know enough not to rock the boat. Besides, this was Myra's turn at the bat; and, believe me, she's no bush-leaguer.

"H-m-m-m!" says she, givin' me the up-and-down inventory. "No wonder you're called Torchy. One seldom sees hair quite so vivid."

"I know," says I. "No use tryin' to play it for old rose, is there? All I'm touchy about is havin' it called red."

"For goodness' sake!" says she. "What shade would you call it?"

"Why," says I, "I think it sounds more refined to speak of it as pink plus."

But Myra seems to be josh-proof.

"That, I presume," says she, "is a specimen of what Aunt Cornelia refers to as your unquenchable impertinence."

"Oh!" says I. "If you've been gettin' Auntie's opinion of me--"

"I have," says Myra; "and, as a near relative of Verona's, I trust you'll pardon me if I seem a bit critical on my own part."

"Don't mind me at all," says I. "You don't like the way I talk or the color of my hair. Go on."

She ain't one to be led anywhere, though.

"I understand," says Myra, "that you come here two or three evenings a week."

"That's about the schedule," says I.

"And just why?" demands Myra.

"It's more or less of a secret," says I; "but there's always a chance, you know, of my havin' a cozy little fam'ly chat like this. And when that don't happen--well, then I can talk with Vee."

Miss Burr's mouth puckers until it looks like a slit in a lemon.

"To be perfectly frank," says she, "I think it unutterably silly of Aunt Cornelia to allow it."

"I can see where you're goin' to be a great help," says I. "Stayin' some time, are you?"

"That depends," says Myra--and the way she snaps at me is almost assault with intent to maim. "I suppose," she goes on, "that you and Verona are quite as insufferable as young people usually are. Tell me; do you sit in corners and giggle?"

"Not as a rule," says I, "but it looks like we would."

"At me, I presume?" says Myra. "Very well; I accept the challenge."

And say, she's no prune-fed pacifist, Cousin Myra. Course, she don't swing the hammer quite so open when the folks get back, for Vee ain't one you can walk on with hobnails and get away with it. I guess Myra suspicioned that. But, when it comes to sly jabs and spicy little side remarks shot in casual, Miss Burr lives up to her last name.

"Oh, yes!" says she, when they tries to introduce us reg'lar. "We have become well acquainted--very."

"How nice!" says Vee, sort of innocent.

"I am glad you think so," says Myra.

And for the rest of the evenin' she confines her remarks to Auntie, cuttin' loose with the sarcasm at every openin' and now and then tossin' an explosive gas bomb at us over Auntie's shoulder. Nothing anyone could grab up and hurl back at her, you know. It's all shootin' from ambush. Some keen tongue she has, take it from me. At 9:30 I backed out under fire, leavin' Vee with her ears pinked up and a smolderin' glow in them gray eyes of hers.

If it hadn't been for puttin' myself in the quitter class I'd laid off Sunday night. But I just couldn't do that. So we stands another siege. No use tryin' to describe it. Cousin Myra's tactics are too sleuthy. Just one jab after another, with them darnin'-needle eyes addin' the fine touches.

But this time Vee only smiles back at her and never answers once. Why, even Auntie takes up a couple of Myra's little slams and debates the point with her enthusiastic. Nothing from Vee, though. I don't understand it a bit until it's all over, and Vee follows me out into the hall and helps me find my hat. Quite careless, she shuts the door behind us.

"Whew!" says I. "Some grouch, Cousin Myra! What is it--shootin' pains in the disposition?"

Vee snickers. "Did you mind very much, Torchy?" she asks.

"Me?" says I. "Oh, I was brought up on roasts--never knew much else. But, I must say, I was gettin' a bit hot on your account."

"Don't," says she. "You see, I know all about Cousin Myra--why she's like that, I mean."

"On a diet of mixed pickles and sour milk, is she?" says I--"or what?"

No, it wasn't anything so simple as that. It was a case of a romance that got ditched. Seems that Myra'd been engaged once. No idle seashore snap runnin' from Fourth of July to Labor Day, but a long-winded, year-to-year affair. The party of the second part was one Hinckley, a young highbrow who knew so much that it took the college faculty a long time to discover that he was worth more'n an assistant bartender and almost as much as a fourth-rate movie actor. Then, too, Myra's father had something lingerin' the matter with him, and wouldn't let anybody manage him but her. Hymen hobbled by both hind feet, as you might say.

They was keepin' at it well, though, each bearin' up patient and waitin' for the happy day, when Myra's younger sister came home from boardin'-school and begun her campaign by practisin' on the Professor, just because he happened to be handy. She was a sweet young thing with cheek dimples and a trilly laugh, and--well, you can guess the rest. Only, when little sister has made a complete hash of things, she skips merrily off and marries a prominent 'varsity quarter-back who has water on the knee and the promise of a nine-dollar-a-week job in uncle's stove works.

Course, Myra really should have made it up when Professor Hinckley finally does come crabbin' around with another ring and a sad-eyed alibi. But she wouldn't--not her. Besides, father had begun takin' mud baths and experimentin' with climates.

So for eight or ten years she went driftin' around here and there, battlin' with room clerks and head waiters, hirin' and firin' nurses, packin' trunks every month or so, and generally enjoyin' the life of a health hunter, with her punctured romance trailin' further and further behind her. Even after father had his final spell and the last doctor's bill was paid off, Myra kept on knockin' around, claimin' there wouldn't be any fun makin' a home just for herself. Why not? Her income was big enough, so she didn't have to worry about rates. All she asked was a room and bath somewhere, and when the season changed she moved on. She'd got so she could tell you the bad points about every high-priced resort hotel from Catalina to Bar Harbor, and she knew so many veranda bores by sight that she could never shake all of 'em for more'n a day or so at a time.

"No wonder she's grown waspy, living a life like that," says Vee.

"Ain't there any way of our duckin' this continuous stingfest, though?" says I.

"There is something I'd like to try," says Vee, "if you'll promise to help."

"If it's a plan to put anything over on Miss Burr," says I, "you can count on me."

"Suppose it sounds silly?" says Vee.

"Comin' from you," says I, "it couldn't."

"Blarney!" says Vee. "But you've said you'd help, so listen; we'll give a Myra day."

"A which?" says I.

"Come here while I whisper," says she.

I expect that's why it don't sound more'n half nutty, too, delivered that way. For with Vee's chin on my shoulder, and some of that silky straw-colored hair brushin' my face, and a slim, smooth arm hooked chummy through one of mine--well, say; she could make a tabulated bank statement listen like one of Grantland Rice's baseball lyrics. Do I fall for her proposition? It's almost a jump.

"All right," says I. "Not that I can figure how it's goin' to work out, but if that's your idea of throwin' the switch on her, I'm right behind you. Just give me the proper cues, that's all."

"Wait until I hear from my telegram," says Vee. "I'll let you know."

I didn't get the word until Tuesday afternoon, when she 'phones down.

"He's coming," says Vee. "Isn't he the dear, though? So we'll make it to-morrow. Everything you can possibly think of, remember."

As a starter I'd spotted the elevator-boy up at Auntie's. Andrew Zink is his full name, and he's a straight-haired smoke from the West Indies. We'd exchanged a few confidential comments on Miss Burr, and I'd discovered she was just about as popular with him as she was with the rest of us.

"But for to-morrow, Andy," says I, slippin' him a whole half dollar, "we're goin' to forget it. See? It'll be, 'Oh, yes, Miss Burr.' and 'Certainly, Miss Burr,' all day long, not omitting the little posie you're goin' to offer her first thing' in the mornin'."

Andy tucks away the half and grins.

"Very well, sir," says he. "It'll be quite a lark, sir."

Next I fixed it up with Mike, the doorman. He'd had a little run-in with Myra about not gettin' a taxi quite quick enough for her, so I had to double the ante and explain how this was a scheme Vee was workin'.

"Sure!" says he. "Anything Miss Verona says goes with me. I'll do my best."

The hard part came, though, when I has to invite Myra to this little dinner-party I'm supposed to be givin'. Course, it's Auntie's blow, but she's been primed by Vee to insist that I do the honors. First off, I was goin' to run up durin' lunch hour and pass it to Cousin Myra in person; but about eleven o'clock I decides it would be safer to use the 'phone.

"Oh!" says she. "I am to be utilized as a chaperon, am I?"

"Couldn't think of anybody who'd do it better," says I; "but, as a matter of fact, that ain't the idea. Auntie's going, you see, and I thought maybe I could induce you to come along, too."

"But I detest hotel dinners," says she.

"Ah, come on! Be a sport!" says I. "Lemme show you what I can pick from the menu. For one item, there'll be _tripe à la mode de Caen_."

"Then I'll come," says Myra. "But how on earth, young man, did you know that--"

"Just wait!" says I. "You got a lot of guessin' besides that. I'll call for you at seven sharp."

So I spent most of my noon hour rustlin' through florist shops to get the particular kind of red roses I'd been tipped off to find. I located 'em, though, and bought up the whole stock, sendin' part to the house and luggin' the rest to the head waiter. While I was at the hotel, too, I got next to the orchestra leader and gave him the names of some pieces he was to spring durin' dinner.

After all, though, it was Auntie who turned the cleverest trick. She'd got real enthusiastic by Wednesday mornin', and what does she do but dash down to the Maison Félice, pick out a two-hundred-dollar evenin' gown, and have it sent up with a fitter. Vee says Myra simply wouldn't open the box for half an hour; but then she softened up, and after she'd been buckled into this pink creation with the rosebud shoulder straps she consents to take one squint at the glass. Then it develops that Myra is still human. From that to allowin' a hairdresser to be called in was only a step, which explains the whole miracle of how Myra blossomed out.

And say, for a late bloomin' it was a wonder. Honest, when I gets my first glimpse of her standin' under the hall light with Hilda holdin' her opera wrap, I lets out a gurgle. Had I wandered into the wrong apartment? Was I disturbin' some leadin' lady just goin' on for the first act? No, there was Cousin Myra's thin nose and pointed chin. But, with her hair loosened up and her cheeks tinted a bit from excitement, she looks like a different party. Almost stunnin', you know.

Vee nudges me to quit the gawp act.

"Gosh!" I whispers. "Who'd have thought it?"

"S-s-s-sh!" says Vee. "We don't want her to suspect a thing."

I don't know whether she did or not, but when we're towed into the dinin'-room she spots the table decorations right off, and whirls on me.

"Here's plotting, young man," says she. "But if you will tell me how you discovered I was so fond of Louis Philippe roses I'll forgive you."

"Looks like I was a good guesser, don't it?" says I.

"You're good at something, anyway," says Cousin Myra; "but--but why five places?"

She's noticed the extra plate and is glancin' around inquirin'.

"Oh!" says I, offhand, "odd numbers for luck, so I took a chance on askin' in an old friend of yours. He ought to be in the cloak-room by now. I'll go fetch him."

You should have seen the look on her face, too, when I shows up with Professor Hinckley. He's a perfectly good highbrow, understand--pointed face whiskers, shaggy forelock, wide black ribbon on his eyeglasses, and all--sort of a mild-eyed, modest appearin' gent, but kind of distinguished-lookin', at that. And you'd never guess how nervous he really was.

"Well, Myra?"' says he, beamin' friendly through his glasses.

"Lester!" she gasps.

They didn't exactly go to a clinch, but they shook hands so long the waiter had to slide the caviar canape between 'em, and even after we got 'em to sit down they couldn't seem to break off gazin' at each other. As a fond reunion it was a success from the first tap of the bell. They went to it strong.

As for the Profess., he seemed to be knocked clear off his pins. Honest, I don't believe he knew whether he was eatin' dinner or steerin' an airship. I caught him once tryin' to butter an olive with a bread stick, and he sopped up a pink cocktail without even lookin' at it. The same thing happened to the one Vee pushed over near his absent-minded hand. And the deeper he got into the dinner the livelier grew the twinkle in them mild eyes of his.

Cousin Myra, too, was mellowin' fast. The first time she let loose with a laugh, I near fell off my chair; but before long I got used to it. Next thing I knew, she was smilin' across at me real roguish, and beatin' time with her finger-tips to the music.

"Ah, ha!" says she. "More of your tricks. I thought the 'Nocturne' was just an accident, but now the 'Blue Danube'--that is your work, young man. Or is it Verona's! Come now, what are you up to, you two over there?"

"Ask Torchy," says Vee, shakin' her head.

"Don't you believe her," says I. "She's the one that planned most of this."

"But what is it?" demands Cousin Myra. "What do you call it?"

"Why," says I, grinnin' more or less foolish, "we're just givin' a Myra day, that's all."

"Splendid!" says she. "And the fact that I don't in the least deserve it makes it seem all the nicer. I suppose your being here, Lester, is part of the plot, too?"

"I hope so," says the Professor.

"Do you know," says Myra, liftin' her glass and glancin' kittenish over the brim at him, "I mean to try to live up to this day. I don't mind saying, though, that for a while it's going to be an awful strain."

"Anyway," says I to Vee, after it's all over and the Professor has finally said good night, "she's got a good start."

"Yes," says Vee, "and perhaps Lester will help some. I didn't quite look for that. It's been fun, though, hasn't it?"

"For an indoor sport," says I, "givin' a Myra day is a lot merrier than it sounds. It beats bein' good to yourself nine up and six to go."