Torchy, Private Sec.

by Sewell Ford

  CHAPTER XV

  MR. ROBERT AND A CERTAIN PARTY

  We was havin' a directors' meetin'. Get that, do you? _We_, you know!For nowadays, as private sec. and actin' head of Mutual Funding, Icrashes into all sorts of confidential pow-wows. Uh-huh! Right in wherethey put a crimp in the surplus and make plots to slip things over onthe Commerce Board! Oh my, yes! I'm gettin' almost respectable enough tobe indicted.

  Well, we'd just pared the dividend on common and was about breakin' upthe session when Mr. Robert misses some figures on export clearanceshe'd had made up and was pawin' about on the table aimless.

  "Didn't I see you stowin' that away in one of your desk pigeonholesyesterday?" I suggests.

  "By George!" says he. "Think you could find it for me, Torchy? And, bythe way, bring along my cigarettes too. You will find them in a leathercase somewhere about."

  I locates the export notes first stab; but the dope sticks ain't insight. I claws through the whole top of the desk before I fin'llydiscovers, shoved clear into a corner, a thin old blue morocco affairwith a gold catch. By the time I gets back he's smokin' a borrowed brandand tosses the case one side.

  Half an hour later the meetin' is over. Mr. Robert sighs relieved,bunches up a lot of papers in front of him, and begins feelin'absent-minded in his pockets. Seein' which I pushes the leather case athim.

  "Ah, yes, thanks," says he, and snaps it open careless.

  But no neat little row of paper pipes shows up. Inside is nothing but apicture, one of these dinky portraits on ivory--mini'tures, ain't they?It shows a young lady with a perky chin and kind of a quizzin' look inher eyes: not a reg'lar front row pippin', you know, but a fairly goodlooker of the highbrow type.

  For a second Mr. Robert stares at the portrait foolish, and then heglances up quick to see if I'm watchin'. As it happens, I am, and blamedif he don't tint up over it!

  "Excuse," says I. "Only leather case I could find. Besides, I didn'tknow you had any such souvenirs as this on your desk."

  He chuckles throaty. "Nor I," says he. "That is, I'd almost forgotten.You see----"

  "I see," says I. "She's one of the discards, eh?"

  Sort of jolts him, that does. "Eh?" says he. "A discard? No, no!I--er--I suppose, if I must confess, Torchy, that I am one of hers."

  "Gwan!" says I. "You? Look like a discard, don't you? Tush, tush!"

  The idea of him tryin' to feed that to me! Why, say, I expect thereain't half a dozen bachelors in town that's rated any higher on theeligible list than Mr. Bob Ellins. It's no dark secret, either. I'veheard of whole summer campaigns bein' planned just to land Mr. Robert,of house parties made up special to give some fair young queen a chanceat him, and of one enterprisin' young widow that chased him up for twoseasons before she quit.

  How he's been able to dodge the net so long has puzzled more than me,and up to date I'd never had a hint that there was such a thing for himas a certain party. So I expect I was gawpin' some curious at thepicture.

  "Huh!" says I, but more or less to myself.

  "Not intending any adverse criticism of the young lady, I trust?"remarks Mr. Robert.

  "Far be it from me!" says I. "Only--well, maybe the paintin' don't doher justice."

  "Rather discreetly phrased, that," says he, chucklin' quiet. "Thank you,Torchy. And you are quite right. No mere painter ever could do her fulljustice. While the likeness is excellent, the flesh tones much as Iremember them, yet I fancy a great deal has escaped the brush,--thequeer, quirky little smile, for instance, that used to come at times inthe mouth corners, a quick tilting of the chin as she talked, and thattrick of widening the eyes as she looked at you. China blue, I think hereyes would be called; rather unusual eyes, in fact."

  He seems to be enjoyin' the monologue; so I don't break in, but juststands there while he gazes at the picture and holds forth enthusiastic.Even after he's finished he still sits there starin'.

  "Gee!" says I. "It ain't a hopeless case, is it, Mr. Robert?"

  Which brings him out of his spell. He shrugs his shoulders, indulges inan unconvincin' little laugh, snaps the case shut, and then tosses itcareless down onto the table.

  "Perhaps you failed to notice the dust," says he. "The back part of thebottom drawer is where that belongs, Torchy--or in the waste basket.It's quite hopeless, you see."

  "Huh!" says I as I turns to go. And this time I meant to get it acrossto him.

  Honest, I couldn't figure why a headliner like Mr. Robert, with all hisgood bank ratin', good fam'ly, and good looks to back him, should getthe gate on any kind of a matrimonial proposition, unless it was a caseof coppin' a Princess of royal blood, and even then I'd back him to showin the runnin'. Who was this finicky party with the willow-ware eyes,anyway? Queen of what? Or was it wings she was demandin'?

  "He seems to be enjoying the monologue; so I just standsthere while he gazes at the picture and holds forth enthusiastic."]

  Say, I most got peeved with this unknown that had ditched Mr. Robert sohard. All that evenin' I mulls over it, wonderin' how long ago it hadhappened and if that accounted for him bein' so cagy in makin' socialdates. Not that he's what you'd call skirt-shy exactly; but I've noticedthat he's always cautious about bein' backed into a corner or paired offwith any special one.

  Course, not knowin' the details of the tragedy, it wa'n't much usespeculatin'. And somehow I didn't feel like askin' for the whole storyright out. You know--there's times when you just can't. I ain't any morecurious than usual over this special case, either; but, seein' how manygood turns Mr. Robert's done for me along the only-girl line, I got towishin' there was some way I could sort of balance the account.

  So when I stumbles across this concert folder it almost looks like aspecial act, with the arrow pointin' my way. I was payin' my reg'larofficial Friday evenin' call. No, nothin' romantic. Just because Aunty'smellowed up a bit since I'm announced proper by the front door help asMr. Ballard, don't get tangled up with the idea that she stands for anydark corner twosin'. Nothin' like that! All the lights are on fullblast, Aunty's right there prominent with her crochet, and on the otherside of the table is me and Vee. And I couldn't be behavin' moreinnocent if I'd been roped to the chair. All I was holdin' was a skeinof yarn. Uh-huh! You see, Vee got the knittin' habit last winter,turnin' out stuff for the Belgians, and now she keeps right on; thoughwho she's goin' to wish a pink and white shawl onto in this weather is amyst'ry.

  "It's for a sufferer--isn't that enough?" says she.

  "From what--chilblains on the ears?" says I.

  "Silly!" says she. "There! Didn't I tell you to bend your thumbs? Howawkward!"

  "Who, me?" says I. "Why, for a first attempt I thought I was puttin' upa real classy performance. Say, lemme wind awhile, and let's see you trythis yarn-jugglin' act."

  She won't, though; so it's me sittin' there playin' dummy, with my armsheld out stiff and my eyes roamin' around restless.

  Which is how I happen to spot this folder with the halftone cut on it.It's been tossed casual on the table, and the picture is wrong side tofrom where I am; but even then there's something mighty familiar aboutit. I wiggles around to get a better view, and lets half a dozen loopsof yarn slip off at a time.

  "Stupid!" says Vee, runnin' her tongue out at me.

  "Didn't I tell you you'd do better by drapin' it over a chair back?"says I. "But say, time out while I snoop into something. Who's the girlwith the press notice stuff?" and I points an elbow at the halftone.

  "That?" says she. "Oh, some concert singer, I think. Let's see.Yes--Miss Elsa Hampton. She's to give a benefit song recital in thePlutoria pink room for the Belgian war orphans, tickets two dollars.Want to go?" And Vee flips the folder into my lap.

  Gettin' the picture right side to, I lets out a whistle. No mistakin'that. "Sure I want to go," says I.

  "Why?" says Vee.

  "Well, for one thing," says I, "she has china blue eyes that widen outwhen they look at you, and a queer, quirky little smile that----"

  "How thrillin
g!" says Vee. "You must know her very well."

  "Almost that," says I. "Anyway, I know someone that did know her verywell--once."

  "Oh!" says Vee, forgettin' all about the yarn windin' and hitchin' herchair up close. "That does sound interesting. I hope it isn't a deepsecret."

  "If it wa'n't," says I, "what would be the fun in tellin' it to you?"

  "Goody!" says Vee. "Who is the poor man who knew her once but doesn'tany more?"

  "Whisper!" says I. "It's Mr. Bob Ellins!"

  "Wha-a-at!" gasps Vee. "Do you really mean it?"

  I'd pulled a sensation, all right, and for the next half-hour she keepsme busy tryin' to explain the details of a situation I hadn't more'nhalf sketched out myself.

  "Kept a miniature of her on his desk!" Vee rattles on. "And it hadn'tbeen opened for ever so long, you say? What makes you think it hadn't?"

  "Dusty," says I.

  "Oh!" says Vee. "Just fancy! And she must have given it to himherself--an ivory miniature, you know. Was--was there another man, doyou think, or just some silly misunderstanding? I wonder?"

  "I hadn't got in that deep," says I.

  "But suppose it was," says Vee, "only a misunderstanding, wouldn't it belovely if we could find some way of--of--well, why don't you suggestsomething?"

  Did I? Say, we was plottin' so lively there for a spell, with our headsclose together, that I can't tell for a fact which it was did get theidea first.

  But, anyway, when I'm busy at the Corrugated next mornin', openin' thefirst batch of mail and sortin' the junk from the important letters, Ilaid the mine. All I had to do was pick out an envelope postmarkedMadison Square, ditch the art dealers' card that came in it, andsubstitute this song recital folder, opened so the picture couldn't bemissed. And when I stacks the letters on Mr. Robert's desk I tucks thatone in second from the top. Some grand little strategy that, eh?

  Then I keeps my ear stretched for any remarks Mr. Robert may unload whenhe makes the great discovery. But, say, when you try dopin' out such acomplicated party as Mr. Bob Ellins you've tackled some deepproposition. Nothin' emotional about him, and although I'm sittin' onlya dozen feet off, half facin' his way too, I don't get even the hint ofa smothered gasp. Couldn't even tell whether he'd seen the picture ornot, and by the time I works up an excuse to drift over by his elbowhe's halfway through the pile.

  "Nothin' startlin' in the mornin' run, eh?" I throws out.

  "Oh, yes," says he. "Mallory reports that those St. Louis people haveapplied for another injunction. Ring up Bates, will you, and have himcall a general council of our legal staff for two-thirty?"

  "Right," says I. "Er--anything else, Mr. Robert?"

  He simply shakes his head and dives into another letter. At that,though, I was lookin' for him to sound me out sooner or later on thepicture business; but the forenoon breezes by without a word. Bylunchtime I'm more twisted than ever. Had he glanced at the halftonewithout recognizin' her? Or was he just keepin' mum? Not until I gets achance to explore the waste basket did I get any line. The folder wa'n'tthere. Neither was it on his desk. And all the hints I threw out durin'the day he don't seem to notice at all. So I didn't have much to tellVee over the 'phone that night.

  "Couldn't get a rise out of him at all," says I.

  "But you're certain Miss Hampton is the one, are you?" says she.

  "If she wa'n't," says I, "why should he keep the folder?"

  "That's so," says Vee. "Then--then shall we do it?"

  "I'm game if you are," says I.

  "All right," says she, and I hears one of them ripplin' laughs of herscomin' over the wire. "It's to-morrow at half after three, you know."

  "I'll be on hand," says I.

  And, believe me, when I gets there and sees the swell mob collectin' inthe pink ballroom, I'm some pleased with myself for gettin' that hunchto doll up in my frock coat and lavender tie. It's mostly a fluffaudience; but there's enough of a sprinklin' of Johnnies and old sportsso I don't feel too conspicuous.

  Course I wa'n't lookin' forward to any treat. I ain't so strong for thisrecital stuff as a rule; but I was anxious to size up the young ladywho'd thrown the harpoon into Mr. Robert so hard. Same way with Vee. Sowe edges through to a front seat and waits expectant.

  And, say, what fin'lly glides out on the stage and bows offhand to thesoft patter of kid gloves is only an average looker. She's simpledressed and simple actin'. No frills about Miss Hampton at all. Why, youmight easy mistake her for one of the girl ushers!

  "Pooh!" says Vee.

  "Also pooh for me," says I.

  More or less easy and graceful in her motions Miss Hampton is, though, Igot to admit, as she stands there chattin' with the accompanist andlettin' them big blue eyes of hers rove careless over the crowd infront. They ain't the stary, baby blue sort, you know. China bluedescribes 'em best, I guess; and they're the calm, steady kind that it'ssort of restful and fascinatin' to watch.

  Almost before we know it she's stepped to the front and started in onthe programme. Italian folk songs is what is down on the card, and sheleads off with that swingin' rollickin' piece, "Santa Lucia." You'veheard it, eh? That's some song, ain't it?

  But, say, I never knew how much snap and go there was to it until Iheard Miss Hampton trill it out. Why, she just tosses up that perky chinof hers and turns loose the catchy melody until you felt the warm wavessplashin' and saw the moonlight dancin' across the bay! I don't knowwhere or what this Santa Lucia thing is, but she most made me homesickto go back there. Honest! And if you think a set of odd-shaded blue eyescan't light up and sparkle with diff'rent expressions, you should haveseen hers. When she finishes and springs that folksy, chummy sort ofsmile--well, take it from me, the hand she gets ain't any polite,halfway, for-charity's-sake applause. They just went to it strong,gloves or no gloves.

  "Isn't she bully?" whispers Vee.

  "Uh-huh!" says I. "We take back the pooh-poohs, eh?"

  The next number was diff'rent, but just as good. At the finish of thefourth a wide old dame in the middle row unpins a cluster of orchidsfrom her belt and aims 'em enthusiastic at the stage. Course they swatsa dignified old boy three seats beyond me back of the ear; but thatstarts the floral offerings. I gets a quick nudge from Vee.

  "Go on, Torchy," she whispers. "Do it now!"

  We hadn't been sure first off that we'd have the nerve to carry thething that far; but we'd come all primed. So I yanks the tissue paperoff a dozen long-stemmed American beauts that I'd smuggled in under mycoat, Vee ties on the card, and I tosses the bunch so accurate it landsalmost on Miss Hampton's toes.

  Course any paid performer would have been tickled to death to have acrowd break loose like that; but Miss Hampton acts a bit dazed by itall. For a second or so she stands there gazin' sort of puzzled, bitin'her upper lip. Then she springs that quirky, good-natured smile of hers,bows a couple of times, and proceeds to help the accompanist gather upthe flowers and stack 'em on the piano.

  When she comes to our big bunch she swoops it up graceful, and is aboutto pile it with the rest when her eyes must have caught the card. Justas easy and natural as if she'd been at home, she turns it over andreads the name.

  And, say, for a minute there I thought we had bust up the show. Talkabout goin' pink! Why, you could see the strawb'rry tint spread over hercheeks and up into her ears! Blamed if her eyes don't moisten up too,and she sweeps over the audience with a quick nervous glance, like shewas tryin' to single someone out! She don't seem to know what to donext. Once she turns as if she meant to beat it into the wings; but asthe applause simmers down the pianist strikes up the beginning of anencore. So she had to stick it out.

  Her voice is more or less shaky at the start; but pretty soon shestrikes her gait again and sings the last verse better than she hadbefore. Then comes an intermission, and when Miss Hampton appears againshe's wearin' that whole dozen roses pinned over her heart. Vee nudgesme excited when she spots it.

  "See, Torchy?" says she.

  "Guess we've started somet
hing, eh?" says I.

  Just what it was, though, we didn't know. I didn't get cold feet either,until the concert is all over and the folks begun swarmin' around thestage to pass over the hot-air congratulations.

  But Miss Hampton wa'n't content to stand there quiet and take 'em. Sheseems to have something on her mind, and the next thing I knew she waspikin' down the steps right towards the middle aisle.

  "Gee!" says I, grabbin' Vee by the arm. "Maybe she saw who passed 'emup. Let's do the quick exit."

  We was gettin' away as fast as we could too, squirmin' through the push,when I looks over my shoulder and discovers that Miss Hampton is almoston our heels.

  "Good-night!" says I.

  Believe me, I was doin' some high-tension thinkin' about then, tryin' toframe up an alibi, when she reaches over my shoulder and holds out herhand to someone leanin' against a pillar. It's Mr. Robert.

  "How absurd of you, Robert!" says she.

  "Eh! I--I beg pardon?" I hears him gasp out.

  And, say, I expect that's the first and only time I've ever seen himgood and fussed. Why, he's flyin' the scarlatina signal clear to theback of his neck!

  "The roses, you know," she goes on. "So nice of you to remember me. I--Ithought you'd forgotten. Thank you for them."

  "Roses?" says he husky, starin' stupid at the bunch.

  Then he turns his head a bit, and his eyes light on me, strugglin' toslip behind a tall female party who's bein' helped into her silk wrap. Imust have looked guilty or something; for he shoots me a crisp, knowin'glance.

  "Oh, yes--the--the roses," I hears him go on. "It was silly of me,wasn't it? I--I'll explain some time, if I may."

  "Oh!" says she. "Of course you may, if they really need explaining."

  Which was the last we heard, as Vee had found an openin' into thecorridor and was dashin' out panicky. You can bet I follows!

  "Did--did you ever?" pants Vee as we gets out to the carriage entrance."Now we have done it, haven't we?"

  "And I'm caught with the goods on, I guess," says I.

  "Just fancy!" says she. "Mr. Robert was there all the time. I wonderwhat he will----"

  "Pardon me, you pair of mischief makers," says a voice behind, "but Ihaven't quite decided."

  It's Mr. Robert!

  "Hel-lup!" says I gaspy.

  "Do I understand," he goes on, "that one of my cards went with thoseroses?"

  "Yep," says I prompt. "Little idea of mine. I--I wanted to see whatwould happen."

  "Really!" says he sarcastic. "Well, I trust that my part of theperformance was quite satisfactory to you." And with that he wheels andmarches off.

  "Whiffo!" says I, drawin' in a long breath. "But he is grouched forfair, ain't he!"

  All the sympathy I gets from Vee, though, is a chuckle. "Don't youbelieve a word of it," says she. "Just wait!"