Torchy, Private Sec. Part 29

Aunty was watchin' him casual as he weighs out a couple of pounds, when all of a sudden she unlimbers her long-handled gla.s.ses and takes a closer look. "My good man," says she, "haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

"Oh, yes," says he, scoopin' a pinch off the scales so they'd register exactly to the quarter ounce.

"In some other store, perhaps?" says she.

"I think not," says he.

"Then where?" asks Aunty.

"Cooperstown," says he, reachin' for a paper bag and shootin' the tea in skillful. "Anything more, Madam?"

"Cooperstown!" echoes Aunty. "Why, I haven't been there since I was a girl."

"Yes, I know," says he. "You didn't even finish at high school. Cut sugar, did you say, Madam?"

"A box," says Aunty, starin' puzzled. "Perhaps you attended the same school?"

He nods.

"Oh, I seem to remember now," says she. "Aren't you the one they called--er---- What was it you were called?"

"Woodie," says he. "Will you have lemons too? Fresh Floridas."

"Two dozen," says Aunty. "Well, well! You used to ask me to skate with you on the lake, didn't you?"

"When my courage was running high," says he. "Sometimes you would; but more often you wouldn't. I lived at the wrong end of town, you know."

"In the Hollow, wasn't it?" says she. "And there was something queer about--about your family, wasn't there?"

He looks her straight in the eye at that, Woodie does. "Yes," says he.

"Mother went out sewing. She was a widow."

"Oh!" says Aunty. "I recall your skates--those funny old wooden-topped ones, weren't they?"

"I was lucky to have those," says he.

"Hm-m-m!" muses Aunty. "But you could skate very well. You taught me the Dutch roll. I remember now. Then there was the night we had the big bonfire on the ice."

Woodie lets on not to hear this last, but grabs a sales slip and gets busy jottin' down items.

I nudges Vee, and she smothers a snicker. We was enjoyin' this little peek into their past. Could you have guessed it? Aunty! She orders six loaves of sandwich bread and asks to see the canned caviar.

"You've never found anything better to do," she goes on, "than--than this?"

"No," says Woodie, on his way down from the top shelf.

Once more Aunty levels her lorgnette and gives him the cold, curious look over. "Hm-m-mff!" says she through her aristocratic nose. "I must say that as a boy you were presuming enough."

"I got over that," says he.

"So I should hope," says she. "You manage to make a living at this sort of thing, I suppose?"

"In a way," says he.

"You've no family, I trust?" says Aunty.

"There are six of us all told," admits Woodie humble.

"Good heavens!" she gasps. "But I presume some of them are able to help you?"

"A little," says Woodie.

"Think of it!" says Aunty. "Six! And on such wages! Are any of them girls?"

"Two," says he.

"I must send you some of my niece's discarded gowns," says Aunty impulsive. "You are not a drinking man, are you?"

"Not to excess, Madam," says Woodie.

"How you can afford to drink at all is beyond me," says she. "Or even eat! Yet you are rather stout. I've no doubt, though, that plain food is best. But you show your age."

"I know," says he, smoothin' one hand over his bald spot. "Anything else to-day?"

There's just a hint of an amused flicker behind the gla.s.ses that makes Aunty glare at him suspicious for a second. "No," says she. "Put all those things in two stout bags and tie them carefully."

"Yes, Madam," says Woodie.

He was doin' it too, when the other clerk steps up, salutes him polite, and says: "You're wanted at the telephone, Sir."

"Tell them to hold the wire," says Woodie.

We was still tryin' to dope that out when a big limousine rolls up in front of the store, out hops a footman in livery, walks in to Woodie with his cap in his hand, and holds out a bunch of telegrams.

"From the office, Sir," says he.

"Wait," says Woodie, wavin' him one side.

Now was them any proper motions for a grocery clerk to be goin' through?

I leave it to you. Vee is watchin' with her nose wrinkled up, like she always does when anything stumps her; and me, I was just starin'

open-faced and foolish. I couldn't get the connection at all. But Aunty ain't one to stand gaspin' over a mystery while her tongue's still workin'.

"Whose car is that?" she demands.

Woodie slips the string from between his front teeth, puts a double knot scientific on the end of the package, and peers over his gla.s.ses out through the door. "That?" says he. "Oh, that's mine."

"Yours!" comes back Aunty. "And--and this store too?"