Wilt Thou Torchy Part 44

They salutes respectful.

"Then get busy with the stevedore stuff," says I.

And say, if they'd been coached by a stage manager they couldn't have done better. Course, I did catch 'em pa.s.sin' the wink to each other as two of 'em marches across the deck holdin' a sack tender between 'em; but that was when they knew n.o.body but me could see. While they was down where Old Hickory had his eye on 'em, they was as solemn as pallbearers. But I'll bet it wasn't many minutes after they got to their own quarters before the hearty haw-haws was turned loose in four different languages.

Meanwhile Auntie and Mr. Ellins has been lookin' on without gettin' the plot of the piece.

"I must say," Auntie comes out with, "that I see no very subtle strategy about that performance. Those men must have suspected. What did they think they were carrying on board so carefully?"

"Sand," says I.

"Huh!" grunts Old Hickory.

"You said you'd stand for it," says I. "And all you owe 'em is about two apiece for helpin' you save your face."

"My face, eh?" says Old Hickory.

"Someone had to be the goat," says I.

"Why, to be sure," cuts in Auntie, beamin' good-natured again. "And I think Torchy managed it very cleverly."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hemmingway," says I. "Maybe you'll do as much for me some time, eh?"

"Why--er--certainly I will," says Auntie, catchin' her breath a little.

I had just sense enough to let it ride at that, for you can't push a thing too far before breakfast. But I didn't mean to let this grand little idea of mine grow cold. It struck me that, if ever I was goin'

to call for a show-down from Auntie, this was the day.

So, when I finally turned in for a forenoon nap, I was busier plottin'

out just how it ought to be done than I was at makin' up lost sleep. I ain't one of them that can romp around all night, though, and then do the fretful toss on the hay for very long after I've hit the pillow.

First thing I knew, I was pryin' my eyes open to find that it's almost 1:30 P.M., and with the sun beatin' straight down on the deck overhead I don't need to turn on any steam heat in the stateroom.

A good souse in a tubful of salty Gulf water wakes me up all over, and when I've dolled myself in a fresh Palm Beach suit and a soft collared s.h.i.+rt I'm feelin' like Winnin' Willie.

As it happens, Vee and I has the luncheon table to ourselves that day, neither Auntie nor Mr. Ellins havin' shown up, and the others bein' all through. And somehow Vee always does have that look of--well, as though she'd just blown in from the rose garden. You know, kind of clean and crisp and--and honeysuckley. Maybe it's that pinky-white complexion of hers, or the simple way she dresses. Anyway, she looks good enough to eat. Don't do to tell 'em so, though.

"Good morning, Torchy," says she, chirky and sweet.

"Wrong on two counts, young lady," says I, ticklin' her ear playful as I pa.s.ses.

"Really?" says she, delayin' her attack on a grapefruit. "Just how?"

"It's afternoon, for one item," says I. "And say, why not ditch that juvenile hail? Torchy, Torchy! Seems to me I ought to be mistered to-day. Someone ought to do it, anyway."

"Why to-day any more than yesterday?" asks Vee.

I waits until the dinin'-room steward has faded, and then I remarks haughty: "Maybe it ain't come to you that I'm a near-plute now."

"Pooh!" says Vee. "You're not a bit richer than I am."

"Boy, page the auditin' committee!" says I. "How strong do you tally up?"

"I'm sure I don't know," says she. "Neither do you, Mister Torchy."

"Oh, yes, I do," says I. "I've got just the same as you."

Vee runs out the tip of her tongue at me.

"That's the sort of disposition," says she, "which goes with red hair."

"Towhead yourself!" says I. "What kind of a scramble has the cook got on the eggs to-day?"

"You'd better order soft-boiled," says Vee. "I'll open them for you."

"Will you?" says I. "Just this once, or does that stand?"

"This--this is so abrupt!" says Vee, snickerin'.

"You tell it well," says I. "Just as though I hadn't been doin' my best to dodge the net! But what chance has a man got when he's cornered at breakfast and she offers to-- Ouch!"

Vee springs one of them boardin'-school tricks of hers, shootin' a teaspoonful of water accurate across the table.

"Rough-houser!" says I, moppin' my eye with the napkin. "If your Auntie can't train you, maybe she'll let me try."

"Oh, no doubt she would," says Vee.

"I might ask her," I suggests.

"I'd love to be around when you did," says she, rollin' her eyes impish.

"Meanin' I wouldn't dare, eh?" says I.

Vee only dabbles her pink finger-ends in the little gla.s.s bowl, and chuckles like she was rememberin' something funny.

"Suppose I did and got away with it?" I asks.

Vee gives me a quizzin' glance from them gray eyes, one of the kind that sort of warms me up under my vest.

"I couldn't decorate you with the Victoria Cross," says she.

"But would you take a chance on the results?" I asks.

"One of the silly things I've learned from you," says Vee, lowerin' her eyelids fetchin', "is to--to take a chance."

"Vee!" says I, startin' to dash around the table.

"Hus.h.!.+" says she, wavin' me hack. "Here come your eggs."