Wilt Thou Torchy Part 8

"Shows his poor taste," says I. "He's due there about eight o'clock, eh?"

"Seven-thirty," says Vee. "But I don't know what to think, Torchy--the traveling-bag and--"

"Don't bother a bit, Vee," says I. "Leave it to me. If it's Clyde at the bottom of this, I've as good as got him spiked to the track. Let Auntie pack her trunk if she wants to, and don't say a word. Give the giddy old thing a chance. It'll be all the merrier afterwards."

"But--but I don't understand."

"Me either," says I. "I'm a grand little guesser, though. And I'll be outside, in ambush for Clyde, from seven o'clock on."

"Will you?" says Vee,' sighin' relieved. "But do be careful, Torchy.

Don't--don't be reckless."

"Pooh!" says I. "That's my middle name. If I get slapped on the wrist and perish from it, you'll know it was all for you."

Course, it would have been more heroic if Clyde hadn't been such a ladylike gent. As it is, he's about as terrifyin' as a white poodle.

So I'm still breathin' calm and reg'lar when I sees him rollin' up in a cab about seven-twenty-five. I'm at the curb before he can open the taxi door.

"Sorry," says I, "but I'm afraid it's all off."

"Eh?" says he, gawpin' at me.

"And you with your suit-case all packed too," says I. "How provokin'!

But they're apt to change their minds, you know."

"Do you mean," says he, "that--er--ah--"

"Something like that," I breaks in. "Anyway, you can judge. For, the fact is, some busybody has been gossipin' about your little trick of bawlin' out Alicia over the coffee and rolls and draggin' her round by the hair."

"Wha-a-at?" he gasps.

"You didn't mention the divorce, did you?" I goes on. "Nor go into details about your antique business? That Marie Antoinette dressin'-table game of yours, for instance. You know there is such a thing as floodin' the market with genuine Connecticut-made relics like that."

Gets him white about the gills, this jab does.

"Puppy!" he hisses out. "Do you insinuate that--"

"Not me," says I. "I'm too polite. But when you unload duplicates of the late Oliver Cromwell's writing-desk you ought to see that both don't go to friends of Colonel Bra.s.sle. Messy old party, the Colonel, and I understand he's tryin' to induce 'em to make trouble. Course, you might explain all that to Auntie; but in her present state of mind-- Eh? Must you be goin'? Any word to send up? Shall I tell her this wilt-thou date is postponed to--"

"Bah!" says Clyde, bangin' the taxi door shut and signalin' the chauffeur to get under way. I think I saw him shakin' his fist back at me as he drives off. So rough of him!

Upstairs I finds Auntie all in a flutter and tryin' to hide it. Vee looks at me inquirin' and anxious, but I chats on for a while just as if nothing had happened. Somehow, I was enjoyin' watchin' Auntie squirm. My mistake was in forgettin' that Vee was fidgety, too. No sooner has Auntie left the room, to send Helma scoutin' down to the front door, than I'm reminded.

"Ouch!" says I. Vee sure can pinch when she tries. I decides to report.

"Oh; by the way," says I, as Auntie comes back, "I just ran across Mr.

Creighton."

"Yes?" says Auntie eager.

"He wasn't feelin' quite himself," says I. "Sudden attack of something or other. He didn't say exactly. But I expect that concert excursion is scratched."

"Scratched!" says Auntie, lookin' dazed.

"Canceled," says I. "Anyway, he went off in a hurry."

"But--but he-was to have--" And there she stops.

"I know," says I. "Maybe he'll explain later, though."

No wonder she was dizzy from it, and it's quite natural that soon after she felt one of her bad headaches comin' on. So Vee and Helma got busy at once. After they'd tucked her away with the ice-bag and the smellin'-salts, she asked to be let alone; so durin' the next half hour I had a chance to tell Vee all about Creighton and his career.

"But he did seem so refined!" says Vee.

"Yon got to be," says I, "to deal in fake antiques. His mistake was in tacklin' something genuine"; and I nods towards a picture of Auntie.

"I don't see how I can ever tell her," says Vee.

"It would be a shame," says I. "Them late romances come so sudden.

Why not just let her press it and put it away? Clyde will never come back."

"Just think, Torchy," says Vee, sort of snugglin' up. "If it hadn't been for you!"

"That's my aim in life," says I--"to prove I'm needed in the fam'ly."

CHAPTER IV

HOW HAM Pa.s.sED THE BUCK

I expect you'll admit that when Mr. Robert slides out at 11 A.M. and don't show up again until after three he's stretchin' the lunch hour a bit. But, whatever other failin's I may have, I believe in bein' easy with the boss. So, when he breezes into the private office in the middle of the afternoon, I just gives him the grin, friendly and indulgent like.

"Well, Torchy," he calls over to me, "have I missed anyone?"

"Depends on how it strikes you," says I. "Mr. Hamilton Adams has near burned out the switchboard tryin' to get you on the 'phone. Called up four times."

"Ham, eh?" says he, shruggin' his shoulders careless. "Then I can hardly say I regret being late. I trust he left no message."

"This ain't your lucky day," says I. "He did. Wants to see you very special. Wants you to look him up."

"At the club, I suppose?" says Mr. Robert.

"No, at his rooms," says I.

"The deuce he does!" says Mr. Robert. "Why doesn't he come here if it's so urgent?"

"He didn't say exactly," says I, "but from hints he dropped I take it he can't get out. Sick, maybe."