Torchy Part 28

"I'm on," says I. "When do I start?"

There's a train at three-thirty-four; so that gives me time to chase around to the house after a grip, then back to the office to gather up a bundle of late letters, and pike for Jersey City. And at that it's five o'clock before I'm landed at a little flag station umpteen miles beyond nowhere. My! but the north end of Jersey has some up and down to it, though! From what I'd heard I thought the State was all meadows; but here I am carted in a four-horse bus up the side of a hill that's twice as tall as the Metropolitan tower.

Say, I never saw so much country spread out all at once before--nothing but hills and trees, and no signs of houses anywhere. Made me so blamed lonesome lookin' at it that I had to shut my eyes for a spell. And when we gets to the top there's a big shack like a new set of car barns, with hundreds of windows, and big wide veranda all around. It looks as homy and cheerful as the Art Museum. The lawn is full of rocks and stumps, and the few little flowerbeds that have been laid out looked lost and homesick.

Pacin' up and down the verandas, like animals in a cage, was about fifty people, and over at one end, all by himself, looms up Old Hickory, lookin' big and ugly and disgusted with life.

"Well!" he growls. "So you got here, eh? Hope you like it as well as I do. Bring that mail inside."

While he's more or less grouchy, he don't act any more like a nervous wreck than usual. I take it that he was some tired when he got up here night before; but that he cut out dinner and turned in for a good twelve-hour snooze instead. Then he's had a quiet day, and I judge he was a lot better already.

He's just got well into his letters, when an attendant guy in a white duck uniform steps in and taps him on the shoulder.

"Well?" says Old Hickory.

"Vesper service is beginning in the chapel, sir," says the gent.

"Let it begin, then," says Mr. Ellins.

"But," says the gent, "it is usual for guests to----"

"It isn't for me!" snaps Mr. Ellins. "You get out!"

And the gent got out.

We could hear 'em singin' hymns and so on for half an hour; but Mr.

Ellins keeps right on goin' through his mail and makin' notes on the envelops until six o'clock, when a big gong rings.

"Thank heaven! Dinner!" says he. "Come on, Torchy; I'm hungry enough to eat a bale of hay!" Then he's hardly got into his chair in the dinin'

room before he's snapping his fingers for a waiter. "Hey!" he sings out.

"Bring me a dry Martini right away, and a pint of Chateau Yquem with the fish."

"Excuse me," says the waiter, "but there isn't anything like that on the bill of fare. If it's something to drink you want, you can order b.u.t.termilk, which is extra."

"b.u.t.termilk!" snorts Old Hickory. "Say, where's the proprietor? Send him over here!"

He didn't have to call him twice; for the boss of the Restorium had heard the row and was glidin' our way as fast as his rubber heels would let him. He's a short legged, pop eyed, red faced party, wearin' cute white side whiskers, a black Prince Albert, and a minister's necktie.

"Gently, gently," says he, pattin' the air with his hands and puckering his mouth. "Remember to speak softly in the dining room."

"All right, Doc," says Mr. Ellins; "but I want a c.o.c.ktail."

"Tut, tut, brother!" says the Doc, liftin' a warnin' finger and raisin'

his eyebrows. "No intoxicating liquors served here, you know. Now a gla.s.s of nice b.u.t.termilk is just what----"

"Bah! b.u.t.termilk!" snorts Hickory. "Think I come from a dairy?"

The Doc does his best to soothe him down and fin'lly persuades him to tackle his mutton broth without the Martini. It's a good enough feed; but kind of plain, about what you'd get in one of these Eighth-ave.

joints, four courses for thirty-five cents. Mr. Ellins gets left again when he calls for a demita.s.se after the tapioca pudding. Nothing doing in the coffee line.

"Huh!" he grunts. "I suppose I may smoke, eh?"

"On the north veranda, from seven until eight-fifteen," says the waiter.

"Well, I'll be--blistered!" says Old Hickory.

While he's burnin' a couple of black perfectos out on the smoke reservation, I roams around the Restorium. It's furnished neat and simple, with lots of varnished woodwork and a few framed railroad photos on the walls. In the parlor was four or five groups of women in rockin'

chairs, talkin' low and doin' fancy-work. Most of the men were tiptoein'

up and down the veranda. They was a stoop shouldered, dyspeptic lookin'

lot. Down in the bas.e.m.e.nt in a place labeled "Recreation Room," a couple of checker games was in progress, and four gents was shovin' weights up and down the shuffleboard. Yes, it was a perfectly good place to be quiet in. I could guess why Hickory Ellins had begun to show signs of bein' restless. By eight o'clock he comes marchin' in and up to the office desk.

"Where's the billiard room?" says he.

"There is no billiard room, brother," says the Doc, steppin' to the front. "Here we have eliminated all of those things that might disturb our beautiful peace and quiet."

"Have, eh?" grunts Hickory. "Then where can I find three others to make up a bridge game?"

"Card playing," says the Doc, putting his thumb and forefingers together, "is not allowed in the Restorium."

"Sorrowing sisters by the sea!" remarks Mr. Ellins. "No billiards! No cards! Say, what the merry Mithridates do you think I'm going to do with myself from now until twelve o'clock, eh?"

"By referring to the rules of this establishment, Mr. Ellins," says the Doc, speakin' cold and reprovin', "you will see that the general retiring hour is fixed at nine-thirty. At nine-forty-five the gas is all turned off."

"What!" roars Hickory. "Think you're going to put me to bed at nine-thirty?"

"You are at liberty to sit up in the dark, if you choose," the Doc comes back at him. "Any guest who is dissatisfied with the manner in which the Restorium is conducted has the option of leaving."

"Well, say!" says Mr. Ellins, thumpin' the desk earnest, "I am dissatisfied! b.u.t.termilk and vesper services! Huh! Do you suppose I've paid two weeks in advance for such a dose? Where's your 'phone?"

With that he calls up New York, gets his chauffeur on the wire, and orders him to have the car here first thing in the morning, even if he has to start before light.

"And what is more," says Mr. Ellins, walkin' back to the Doc, "I propose to buy the rest of this hill and open a real live hotel as close to your place as I can put it. There'll be something going on in it all the time, if I have to make everything free, and you can bet your last dollar the wine list will have something besides b.u.t.termilk on it!

There'll be billiard tables, bowling alleys, a dance hall, and a bra.s.s band playing all night. I'll fix your beautiful peace and quiet for you!"

The Doc, he smiles a kind of sanctified smile and points to the clock.

"In just forty-five minutes," says he, "the lights go out."

That's all the satisfaction Mr. Ellins gets, too; so he takes me in tow and we beat it 'steen times around the verandas, him stating his opinions of restoriums in general, Cousin Martha in partic'lar, and now and then shootin' a sarcastic remark at me. But when he sees the other victims begin sneakin' off one by one he growls out:

"Well, son, I suppose they'll be locking us out if we don't follow suit.

Get the keys to our rooms."

First off I thought I could have a great snooze; but it's such a blamed quiet place that I found myself wide awake, with my ear strained to see if I couldn't hear something. After an hour or so of that, I gets up and sits by the open window; but as there ain't any moon or any street lights, it's like starin' down a coalhole.

I was wondering if the country was always as black as that at night, and what would happen to anyone that strayed out into it, when all of a sudden I hears a window raised, and way down in the bas.e.m.e.nt under the dining room I sees a bright light s.h.i.+nin' out. "h.e.l.lo!" thinks I. "Some of the help must be bustin' the rules and regulations."

By leanin' out and rubberin' I could look down into the room. And, say, the shock almost tumbled me out. For there's the Doc sittin' in his s.h.i.+rtsleeves with four other gents around a green topped table decorated with stacks of chips. The Doc is just dealin', and before the shade is pulled down again I had time to see him reach under the lower deck and haul up a decanter that might have been full of cold tea.