Torchy Part 30

"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 Was.h.i.+ngton 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-s.h.!.+" 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 pa.s.sin' 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 b.u.t.ters-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 cla.s.s 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 doc.u.ment 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 a.s.signed 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 bra.s.s 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 pa.s.sed!

"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' cla.s.s 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?