Wilt Thou Torchy Part 1

Wilt Thou Torchy.

by Sewell Ford.

CHAPTER I

ON THE WAY WITH CECIL

It was a case of declarin' time out on the house. Uh-huh--a whole afternoon. What's the use bein' a private sec. in good standin' unless you can put one over on the time-clock now and then? Besides, I had a social date; and, now Mr. Robert is back on the job so steady and is gettin' so domestic in his habits, somebody's got to represent the Corrugated Trust at these function things.

The event was the openin' of the Pill Box; you know, one of these d.i.n.ky little theaters where they do the capsule drama at two dollars a seat.

Not that I've been givin' my theatrical taste the highbrow treatment.

I'm still strong for the smokeless war play where the coised spy gets his'n good and hard.

But I understand this one-act stuff is the thing to see just now, and I'd picked up a hunch that Vee and Auntie had planned to be in on this openin' until Auntie's sciatica developed so bad that they had to call it off. So it's me makin' the timely play with a couple of seats in E center and almost gettin' hugged for it. Even Auntie shoots me an approvin' glance as she hands down a favorable decision.

So we sits through five acts of piffle that was mostly talky junk to me. And, at that, I wa'n't sufferin' exactly; for when them actorines got too weird, all I had to do was swing a bit in my seat and I had a side view of a spiffy little white fur boa, with a pink ear-tip showin'

under a ripple of corn-colored hair, and a--well, I had something worth watching that's all.

"Wasn't that last thing stupid?" says Vee.

"Didn't bother me any," says I. "Maybe I wa'n't followin' it real close."

"The idea!" says, she. "Why come to the theater, anyway?"

"Lean closer and I'll whisper," says I.

"Silly!" says she. "Here! Have a chocolate."

"Toss," says I, openin' my mouth.

Vee snickers. "Suppose I missed and hit the fat man beyond?"

"It's a sportin' chance he takes," says I. "Shoot."

I had to b.u.mp Fatty a bit makin' the catch; but when he sees what the game is, he comes back with the friendly grin.

"There!" says Vee, tintin' up. "Now behave."

"Sorry," says I, "but I had to field my position, didn't I? Once more, now."

"Certainly not," says Vee. "Besides, there goes the curtain."

And if it hadn't been for interruptions like that we might have had a perfectly good time. We generally do when we're let alone. To sort of string the fun out I suggests goin' somewhere for tea. And it was while we're swappin' josh over the toasted crumpets and marmalade that we discovers a familiar-lookin' couple on the dancin' surface.

"Why, there's Doris!" says Vee.

"And the happy hubby!" I adds. "Hey, Westy! Come nourish yourself."

Maybe you remember that pair? Sappy Westlake, anyway. He's the n.o.ble, fair-haired youth that for a long time Auntie had all picked out as the chosen one for Vee, and he hung around constant until one lucky day Vee had this Doris Ull come for a visit.

Kind of a pouty, peevish queen, Doris was, you know. Spoiled at home, and the job finished at one of these flossy girls' boardin'-schools where they get a full course in court etiquette and learn to call the hired girl Smith quite haughty.

But she looked good to Westy, and, what with the help Vee and I gave 'em, they made a match of it. Months ago that must 'a' been, nearly a year. So I signals a fray-juggler to pull up more chairs, and we has quite a reunion.

Seems they'd been on a long honeymoon trip: done the whole Pacific coast, stopped off a while at Banff, and worked hack home through Quebec and the White Mountains. Think of all the carfares and tips to bell-hops that means! He don't have to worry, though. Income is Westy's middle name. All he knows about it is that there's a trust company downtown somewheres that handles the estate and wishes on him quarterly a lot more'n he knows how to spend. Beastly bore!

"What a wonderful time you two must have had!" says Vee.

Doris shrugs her shoulders.

"Sightseeing always gives me a headache," says she. "And in the Canadian Rockies we nearly froze. I was glad to see New York again.

But one tires of hotel life. Thank goodness, our house is ready at last. We moved in a week ago."

"Oh!" says Vee. "Then you're housekeeping?"

Doris nods. "It's quite thrilling," says she. "At ten-thirty every morning I have the butler bring me Cook's list. Then I 'phone for the things myself. That is, I've just begun. Let me see, didn't I put in to-day's order in my--yes, here it is." And she fishes a piece of paper out of a platinum mesh bag. "Think of our needing all that--just Harold and me," she goes on.

"I should say so," says Vee, startin' to read over the items. "'Sugar, two pounds; tea, two pounds--'"

"Cook leaves the amounts to me," explains Doris; "so I just order two pounds of everything."

"Oh!" says Vee, readin' on. "'b.u.t.ter, two pounds; eggs, two--' Do they sell eggs that way, Doris?"

"Don't they?" asks Doris. "I'm sure I don't know."

"'Coffee, two pounds,'" continues Vee. "'Yeast cakes, two pounds--'

Why, wouldn't that be a lot of yeast cakes? They're such little things!"

"Perhaps," says Doris. "But then, I sha'n't have to bother ordering any more for a month, you see. Now, take the next item. 'Champagne wafers, ten pounds.' I'm fond of those. But that is the only time I broke my rule. See--'flour, two pounds; roast beef, two pounds,' and so on. Oh, I mean to be quite systematic in my housekeeping!"

"Isn't she a wonder?" asks Westy, gazin' at her proud and mushy.

"I say, though, Vee," goes on Doris enthusiastic, "you must come home with us for dinner to-night. Do!"

At which Westy nudges her and whispers something behind his hand.

"Oh, yes," adds Doris. "You too, Torchy."

Vee had to 'phone Auntie and get Doris to back her up before the special dispensation was granted; but at six-thirty the four of us starts uptown for this brownstone bird-cage of happiness that Westy has taken a five-year lease of.

"Just think!" says Vee, as we unloads from the taxi. "You with a house of your own, and managing servants, and--"

"Oh!" remarks Doris, as she pushes the b.u.t.ton. "I do hope you won't mind Cyril."

"Mind who?" says Vee.

"He--he's our butler," explains Westy. "I suppose he's a very good butler, too--the man at the employment agency said he was; but--er--"