Torchy, Private Sec. Part 16

"You're a wonder, Skeet," says I. "And it's a great game as long as you can get away with it. But whisper!" Here I glances around cautious. "You know I'm a friend of yours."

"Oh, sure," says he careless. "What then?"

"Only this," says I. "Here's once when I'm afraid you're about to pull down trouble."

"How's that?" says he, twistin' his neck uneasy.

"Notice the two gents I was just talkin' with," I goes on, "specially the savage-lookin' one with the framed lamps? Well, that was Hubby.

He's got one of these hair-trigger dispositions too."

"Pooh!" says Skeet. But he's listenin' close.

"I'm only tellin' you," says I. "Then the big one with the wide shoulders--that's Brother. Reg'lar brute, he is, and a temper----"

That gets him stary eyed. "You--you don't mean," says he, "that----"

"Uh-huh!" says I. "You know you and the young lady was some conspicuous.

There's been talk all round the room. They've both heard, and they're beefin' something awful. Course I ain't sayin' they'll spring any gunplay right in the house; but--why, what's wrong, Skeet?"

Honest, he's gone putty faced and panicky. He begins pawin' around for his overcoat.

"Ain't goin' so soon, are you," says I, "without breakin' a few more hearts?"

"I--I'm goin' to get out of here!" says he, his teeth chattery. He'd grabbed his silk lid and was makin' a dash for the front door when I stopped him.

"Not that way, for the love of soup!" says I. "They'll be layin' for you there. Why not bluff it out and cut up with some of the other queens?"

"I'm not feeling well," says he. "I--I'm going, I tell you!"

"If you insist, then," says I, "perhaps I can sneak you out. Here, this way. Now slide in behind that portiere until I find one of the maids.

Oh, here's one now. S-s-s-t! That you, Maggie? Well, smuggle Mr. Keyser out the back way, will you? And if you don't want to witness bloodshed, do it quick!"

I tipped her the wink over his shoulder, and the last glimpse I had of Skeet he was bein' hustled and shoved towards the back way by willin'

hands.

By the time I gets back into the ballroom I finds Marjorie right in the midst of a fam'ly court martial. She's makin' a full confession.

"Of course I hired him," she's sayin' to Brother Robert. "Why? Because I've been a wall flower at too many dances, and I'm tired of it. No, I don't know who he is, I'm sure; but he's a perfectly lovely dancer. I wonder where he's disappeared to?"

Which seemed to be my cue to report. "Mr. Keyser presents his compliments," says I, "and begs to be excused for the rest of the evenin' on account of feelin' suddenly indisposed. He says you can send him that fifteen by mail, if you like."

"Well, the idea!" gasps Marjorie.

As for Mr. Robert, he chuckles. Takin' me one side, he asks confidential, "What did you use on our young friend, persuasion, or a.s.sault with intent?"

"On a fish-face like that?" says I. "Nope. This was just a simple case of spill."

CHAPTER VII

GETTING A JOLT FROM WESTY

You might call it time out, or suspended hostilities durin' peace negotiations, or anything like that. Anyway, Aunty has softened up to the extent of lettin' me come around once a week without makin' me a.s.sume a disguise, or crawl in through the coal chute. Course I'm still under suspicion; but while the ban ain't lifted complete she don't treat me quite so much like a porch climber or a free speech agitator.

"Remember," says she, "Friday evenings only, from half after eight until not later than ten."

"Yes'm," says I, "and it's mighty----"

"Please!" she breaks in. "No grotesquely phrased effusions of grat.i.tude.

I am merely indulging Verona in one of her absurd whims. You understand that, I trust?"

"I get your idea," says I, "and even if it don't swell my chest any, I'm----"

"Kindly refrain from using such patois," says Aunty.

"Eh?" says I. "You mean ditch the gabby talk? All right, Ma'am."

Aunty rolls her eyes and sighs hopeless. "How my niece can find entertainment in such----" Here Aunty stops and shrugs her shoulders.

"Well," she goes on, "it is a mystery to me."

"Me too," says I; "so for once we're playin' on the same side of the net, ain't we! Say, but she's some girl though!"

Aunty's mouth corners wrinkle into one of them sarcastic smiles that's her specialty, and she remarks careless: "Quite a number of young men seem to have discovered that Verona is rather attractive."

"They'd have to be blind in both eyes and born without ears if they didn't," says I, "believe me!"

Oh, yes, we had a nice confidential little chat, me and Aunty did,--almost chummy, you know,--and as it breaks up and I backs out into the hall, givin' her the polite "Good evenin', Ma'am," I thought I heard a half-smothered snicker behind the draperies. Maybe it was that flossy French maid of theirs. But I floats downtown as gay and chirky as though I'd been promoted to first vice-president of something.

Course I was wise to the fact that Aunty wa'n't arrangin' any duo act with the lights shaded soft. Not her! Even if I had an official ratin'

in the Corrugated now, and a few weeks back had shunted her off from a losin' stock deal, she wa'n't tryin' to decoy me into the fam'ly.

Hardly! I could guess how she'd set the stage for my weekly call, and if I found myself with anything more than a walk-on part in a mob scene I'd be lucky.

You know she's taken a house for the winter, one of them old-fas.h.i.+oned brownstone fronts up on Madison-ave. that some friends of hers was goin'

to close durin' a tour abroad. Nothin' swell, but real comfy and substantial, and as I marches up bold for my first push at the bell b.u.t.ton I'm kind of relieved that I don't have to stand in line.

Who should I get a glimpse of, though, as I'm handin' my things to the butler, but the favored candidate, Sappy Westlake? Yep, big as life, with his slick, pale hair, his long legs, and his woodeny face! Looked like his admission card must have been punched for eight P.M., or else he'd been asked for dinner. Anyway, he was right on the ground, thumpin'

out a new rag on the piano, and enjoyin' the full glare of the limelight. The only other entry I can discover is a girl.

"My friend Miss Ull," explains Vee.

A good deal of a queen Miss Ull is too, tall and slim and tinted up delicate, but one of these poutin', peevish beauts that can look you over cold and distant and say "Howdy do" in such a bored, tired tone that you feel like apologizin' for the intrusion.

They didn't get wildly enthusiastic over my entrance, Miss Ull and Westy. In fact, almost before the honors are done they turns their backs on me and drifts to the piano once more.

"Do play that 'Try-trimmer-Traumerei' thing again," urges Miss Ull, and begins to hum it as Westy proceeds to bang it out.