by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER VI
A BALANCE FOR THE BOSS
You see, I was openin' the mornin' mail. Hope you get that part. Notthat I want to seem chesty over it. Just goes to show, that's all.For, of the whole force here at the General offices, there's just threeof us can carve up the mornin' mail without gettin' fired for it. Andthe other two are Old Hickory and Mr. Robert.
H-m-m-m! Business of lookin' important. That's what it is to be aprivate sec. But, between you and me, this slicin' and sortin'envelopes ain't such thrillin' work; mostly routine stuff--reports ofdepartment heads, daily statements from brokers, and so on. Now andthen, though, you run across something rich. This was one of the times.
I was 'most through the pile when I comes to this pale pink affair witha heavy wax seal on the back. Perfumed, too, like lilacs. First off Ithought it must be private, and I held the letter stabber in the airwhile I took a closer look. No. It's addressed just to the CorrugatedTrust. So rip she goes. After I'd read it through twice I grins andputs it one side. When Mr. Robert blows in I hands the pink one to himfirst.
"We're discovered," says I. "Here's someone that hints polite howwe're a bunch of strong-arms organized to rob the widow and orphan oftheir daily bread."
Mr. Robert takes one sniff, then holds it at arm's length while he runsit through. Gets a chuckle out of him, too.
"It's rather evident," says he, "that Mrs. Theodore Bayly Bagstockdoesn't approve of us at all--though just why is not quite clear."
"That's easy," says I. "This Inter-Lake Navigation that she's beefin'about was one of them little concerns we gathered in last fall. Paidsomething like fourteen, and our common at three and a half don't seemso good to her, I expect. Still, she got a double on her holdings bythe deal, and with the melon we're goin' to cut next month--"
"Suppose, Torchy," breaks in Mr. Robert, tossing back the letter, "youanswer the lady in your own direct and lucid way. You might suggestthat we are neither highwaymen nor the Associated Charities, using anylittle whim of sarcasm that occurs to you."
I'd just thought out a real snappy come-back too, and was dictatin' itto a stenographer, when Old Hickory happens to drift by with his earout. He stops short.
"Hold on," says he. "What Mrs. Bagstock is that?"
"Why, the peevish one, I expect, sir," says I.
"Let's see that letter," says he.
I passes it over.
"Huh!" he goes on, rubbin' his chin reminiscent. "I wonder if thatcould be--er--young man, I think I'll answer this myself."
"Oh, very well, sir," says I, shruggin' my shoulders careless.
Must have been half an hour later when Old Hickory calls me into theprivate office, and I finds him still gazin' at the scented note.
"Torchy," says he, glancin' keen at me from Tinder his bushy eyebrows,"this Mrs. Bagstock seems to think we are using her badly. As a matterof fact, those Inter-Lake shareholders were lucky. We might havefrozen them out altogether. You understand, eh?"
I nods.
"But I can't put that in a letter," he goes on. "It could be explainedin a personal interview, however."
"I get you," says I. "I'll 'phone for her to come around."
"No!" he roars. "You'll do nothing of the sort. What the rhythmicrhomboids put that into your head? I don't want to see the woman.I'll not see her, not on any pretext. Understand?"
"I think so," says I.
"Then get your hat," says he.
"Yes, sir," says I, edging out.
"Just a moment," says Old Hickory. "You are to explain to Mrs.Bagstock fully: assure her that in the long run she will not be theloser, and so on. As courteously as you know how. And--er--if in thecourse of the interview you should happen to learn her givenname--er--just remember it."
"Such as Ella May or Josephine?"
"No!" he snaps. "Natalie. Now clear out."
Ain't he the foxy old pirate, though? Sendin' me off on a sleuthin'expedition without givin' up a hint as to what it's all about! Was itsome back-number romance that this lilac-dipped note had reminded himof? More likely there'd been some Bagstock or other who'ddouble-crossed him in a deal and he'd never found a chance to getsquare. Anyway, he's after a confidential report, so off I pikes.
My troubles began right at the start. I had to hunt the address up ona city map, and when I'd located it on the lower West Side, down in thewarehouse district, I'm sure of one thing--this Mrs. Bagstock can't besuch-a-much. If I had any doubts they was knocked out by the sign hungalongside the front door--"Furnished Rooms."
I expect it had been quite a decent old house in its day--one of thesefull-width brick affairs, with fancy iron grill-work on either side ofthe brownstone steps and a fan-light over the door. There was even anold-fashioned bell-pull that was almost equal to a wall exerciser forworkin' up your muscle. I was still pumpin' away energetic, nothearin' any results inside, when the door is jerked open, and a perkyyoung female with the upper part of her face framed in kid curlers anda baby-blue boudoir cap glares at me unpleasant.
"Humph!" says she. "Tryin' to play 'Rag-Time Temple Bells,' are you?"
"Then I did register a tinkle, did I?" says I.
"Tinkle! More like a riot call," says she. "Want to look at rooms?"
"Not exactly," says I. "You see, I'm representin'--"
"Are you?" she crashes in crisp. "Well, say, you fresh agents aregoin' to overwork this comedy cut-up act with our bell one of thesetimes. Go on. Shoot it. What you want to wish on us--instalmentplayer-piano, electric dish-washer, magazine subscriptions, or--"
"Excuse me," I cuts in, producin' the letter; "but, while you're agrand little guesser, your start is all wrong. I came to see Mrs.Bagstock about this. Lives here, don't she?"
"Oh, Auntie?" says the young party in the boudoir cap. "Then I guessyou can come in. Now, lemme see. What's this all about? H-m-m-m!Stocks, eh? Just a jiffy while I go through this."
Durin' which I've been shooed into the parlor. Some parlor it is, too.I don't know when I've seen a room that came so near whinin' aboutbetter days gone by. Every piece of furniture, from the threadbaresofa to the rickety center table, seems kind of sad and sobby.
Nothing old-timey about this young female that's studyin' out Mrs.Bagstock's letter. Barrin' the floppy cap, she's costumed zippy enoughin what I should judge was a last fall's tango dress. As she reads sheyanks gum industrious.
"Say," she breaks out, "this is all Dutch to me. Who's bein' calleddown, anyway?"
"We are," says I. "The Corrugated Trust. I'm private sec. there.I've come around to show Mrs. Bagstock where she's sized us up wrong,and if I could have five minutes' talk with her--"
"Well, you can't, that's all," says the young lady. "So speed up andtell it to me."
Course, I wasn't doin' that. We holds quite a debate on the subjectwithout my scorin' any points at all. She tells me how she's a nieceby marriage of Mrs. Bagstock, and the unregrettin' widow of the lateDick McCloud, who up to a year ago was the only survivin' relative ofhis dear aunt.
"And he wasn't much good at that, if I do say it," announces Tessie,snappin' her black eyes. "I don't deny he had me buffaloed for a whilethere, throwin' the bull about his rich aunt that was goin' to leavehim a fortune. Huh! This is the fortune--this old furnished-roomjoint that's mortgaged up to the eaves and ain't had a roomer in threemonths. Hot fortune, ain't it? And here I am stranded with a battyold dame, two blocks below Christopher."
"Waitin' to inherit?" I asks innocent.
"Why not?" says Tessie. "I stood for Dick McCloud 'most three years.That ought to call for some pension, hadn't it? I don't mind sayin',too, it ain't one long May-day festival, this bein' buried alive withAunt Nutty."
"Meanin' Mrs. Bagstock?" says I.
She nods. "One of Dick's little cracks," says she. "Her real name isNatalie."
I expect my ears did a reg'lar rabbit motion at that. So this was theone? Well, I'd got to have a look at her!
>
"Eh?" says I. "Did you say Natalie?"
"Aunt Nutty's a better fit, though," says Tessie.
"Ah, come!" says I. "She don't write so batty. And anybody who cannotice the difference between fourteen per cent. dividends and threeand a half ain't so far gone."
"Oh, you never could work off any wooden money on her," admits Tessie."Her grip on a dollar is sump'n fierce; that is, until it comes tosettin' the stage for one of her third Wednesdays."
"Her which?" says I.
"If it was anything I could cover up," says Tessie, "you bet I'd denyit. But anybody on the block could put you wise. So, if you mustknow, every third Wednesday Aunt Nutty goes through the motions ofpullin' off a pink tea. Uh-huh! It's all complete: the big silver urnpolished up and steaming sandwiches and cakes made, flowers about, usall dolled up--and nobody to it! Oh, it's a scream!"
"But don't anyone come?" says I.
"Hardly," says Tessie, "unless you count Mrs. Fizzenmeyer, thedelicatessen lady; or Madame Tebeau, the little hairdresser; or theSchmitt girls, from the corner bakery. They pretend to take Auntiealmost as serious as she takes herself. Lately, though, even thatbunch has stopped. You can't blame 'em. It may be funny for once ortwice. After that--well, it begins to get ghastly. Specially with theold girl askin' me continual to watch out the window and see if the VanPyles haven't driven up yet, or the Rollinses, or the Pitt-Smiths. Ifthat ain't nutty, now what is?"
"The third Wednesday, eh?" says I. "That's to-morrow, ain't it?"
"Sure," says Tessie. "Which is why you can't see her to-day. She's intrainin' for the big event--y'understand?"
"But I'd like to set her mind easy on this stock proposition," says I.
"Wish you could," says Tessie. "She's been stewin' a lot oversomething or other. Must be that. And I could take you up to her ifyou was on the list."
"What list?" I asks.
"Her doctor, her solicitor, her banker," says Tessie, checkin' 'em offon her fingers.
"Say," says I, "couldn't I ring in as one of her bankers? Then I couldget this off my chest and not have to come again."
"I'll put it up to her," says Tessie. "Got a business card on you?"
I had, an engraved one. Maybe that's what did the trick, for Tessiecomes back smilin'.
"But it'll take me half an hour or so to fix her up," says she. "She'sdreadful fussy about her looks."
"I got all day," says I.
But at that it seemed like I'd been shut up in that sobby parlor for amonth when Tessie finally gives me the word. "Come along," says she."And don't forget to make a noise like a banker."
Say, after I'd been led up to this faded old relic that's bolsteredwith pillows in the armchair by the window, and listened to her wavery,cracked voice, I couldn't see anything funny in it at all.
It's a vague, batty sort of talk we had. Mostly it's a monologue byher.
"I am quite annoyed," says she, tappin' the chair arm with her thin,blue-white finger-nails. "My income, you know. It must not be reducedin this way. You must attend to it at once. Those Inter-Lakesecurities. I've depended on those. Mr. Bagstock gave them to me onour fifth wedding anniversary. Of course, I am not a business woman.One can't neglect one's social career. But I have always tried to lookafter my own securities. My father taught me to do that when I was amere girl. So I wrote about my Inter-Lake Navigation shares. Whyshould your firm interfere? You say in a few months they will pay aswell. But meanwhile? You see, there are my Wednesdays. I can't givethem up. What would people say? For years that has been my day. No,no, young man, you must find a way. Tell your firm that I simply mustkeep up my Wednesdays."
And, as she stops for breath, it's about the first chance I've had tospring anything on her. Old Hickory hadn't told me not to use hisname, and was I to blame if he'd overlooked that point?
"Yes'm," says I; "I'll tell Mr. Ellins."
"Who?" says she, steadyin' her wanderin' gaze. "Mr. Ellins?"
"Old Hickory," says I. "He's president of the Corrugated Trust, ma'am."
"Really!" says she. "How odd! I--I used to know a young man of thatname--a pushing, presuming, impudent fellow. In fact, he had theaudacity to call on me several times. He was quite impossiblesocially; uncouth, awkward, rough spoken. A mere clerk, I believe.And I--well, I was rather a belle that season, I suppose. At least, Idid not lack suitors. A brilliant season it was for me too, my first.Our dinners, receptions, dances, were affairs of importance. How thisraw Middle-Westerner came to be invited I've forgotten. Through myfather, I presume. I had hardly noticed him among so many. At least,I am sure I never gave him an excuse for thinking that he could-- Oh,it was outrageous. I had been trying to dance with him and had givenit up. We were in the little conservatory, watching the others,when--well, I found myself in his arms, crushed there. He--he waskissing me violently. I suppose I must have screamed before I fainted.Anyway, there was a scene. He was given his hat and coat, shown thedoor. Father was in a rage. Of course, after that he was ostracized.I never saw him again, never forgave him. And now-- Do you think thiscan be the same Mr. Ellins? He sent you to me, did he not? Did hemention anything about--"
"Not a word except business," says I. "And I must say that performancedon't sound much like the boss."
"Ah!" says the old girl, sighin' relieved. "I am glad to hear you sayso. I should not care to have any dealings with him."
She was back in the '70's again, tryin' to look haughty and indignant.Next minute she was protestin' about her income and announcin' that shemust keep up her Wednesdays.
"Yes'm," says I, backin' out; "I'll tell him."
"Well?" says Tessie, as we gets back to the parlor, "Ain't that somebug-house proposition? Got an ear-full, didn't you? And to-morrowwe'll-- There's that fool bell again. Oh, it's the doctor. I'll haveto take him up. So long."
She let the young doctor in as she let me out. I was half way down theblock, too, when I turns and walks back. I waits in the tin runaboutuntil the pill distributer comes out.
"What about the old lady in there?" says I. "Kind of wabbly, ain'tshe?"
"Oh, she may last a month more," says he. "Wonderful vitality. Andthen again--oh, any time; like that!" and he snaps his fingers.
Maybe I didn't have some details to give Old Hickory.
"It's a case of better days," says I. "Must have been some societyqueen and she's never got over the habit. Still playin' the game."
Then I describes the guestless teas she has. But never a smile out ofOld Hickory. He listens grim without interruptin'.
"But what about her first name?" he asks at last.
"Oh, sure," says I. "Didn't I mention that? Natalie. And I expectshe was some stunner. She's near the finish now, though. Shouldn'twonder but to-morrow might be her last third Wednesday."
"Who says so?" demands Mr. Ellins savage.
"Her doctor," says I.
With that, Old Hickory bangs his fist on the desk.
"Then, by the Lord Harry," says he, "I'd like to make it a good one."
"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.
"Young man," says he, "I don't know whether you have had fool luck orhave been particularly clever, but thus far you have handled thisaffair for me like a diplomat. Now I'm going to ask you to dosomething more. I don't care to hear another word about Mrs. Bagstock,not a whisper, but--er--here's a check for two hundred dollars. No,I'll make it five. Just take that and see that her silly tea to-morrowis a bang-up affair, with plenty of real guests."
I gasps.
"But, I say, Mr. Ellins," I begins, "how do I--"
"Don't ask me how, young man," he snaps. "What do I know abouttea-parties? Do as I tell you."
Say, that's some unique order to shoot at a private sec., ain't it?
And did I make good? Listen. Before nine o'clock that night I had thething all plotted out and half a dozen people gettin' busy. Course,it's mostly Vee's program. She claps her hands when she hears
the tale.
"Why, Torchy!" says she. "Isn't that just splendid! Certainly we cando it."
And when Vee gets enthusiastic over anything it ain't any flash in thepan. It's apt to be done, and done right. She tells me what to doright off the reel. And you should have seen me blowin' that fivehundred like a drunken sailor. I charters a five-piece orchestra,gives a rush order to a decorator, and engages a swell caterer, warnin'Tessie by wire what to expect. Vee tackled the telephone work, andwith her aunt's help dug up about a dozen old families that rememberedthe Bagstocks. How they hypnotized so many old dames to take a trip'way downtown I don't know; but after Mrs. Tessie McCloud had watchedthe fourth limousine unload from two to three classy-lookin' guests,she near swallowed her gum.
"Muh Gawd!" says she. "Am I seein' things, or is it true?"
Not only dames, but a sprinklin' of old sports in spats and frock-coatsand with waxed white mustaches was rounded up; and, with five or sixdebutantes Vee had got hold of, it's some crusty push.
First off Mrs. Bagstock had been so limp and unsteady on her pins thatshe'd started in by receivin' 'em propped up in a big chair. But bythe time the old parlor got half full and the society chatter cutsloose she seems to buck up a lot.
Next thing I knew, she was standin' as straight as a Fifth Avenuedoorman, her wrinkled old chin well up and her eyes shinin'. Honest,she was just eatin' it up. Looked the part, too. A bit out of date asto costume, maybe; but with her white hair piled up high and thediamond-set combs in it, and a cameo as big as a door-knob at herthroat, and with that grand-duchess air of hers, hanged if she don'tcarry it off great. Why, I heard her gossipin' with old Madam Van Pyleas chummy and easy as if it had been only last week since they'd seeneach other, instead of near twenty years ago.
Havin' to pay off some of the help, I had to stick around until it wasall over. So I was there when she staggers towards Tessie and leansheavy on her shoulder.
"They--they've all gone, haven't they?" she asks. "I--I'm so tiredand--and so happy! It has been the most successful Wednesday I've hadfor some time, hasn't it?"
"Has it?" says Tessie. "Why, Auntie, this was a knockout, one of thekind you read about. Honest, even when I was fittin' corsets for thecarriage trade, I never got so close to such a spiffy bunch. But wehad the goods to hand 'em--caviar sandwiches, rum for the tea, fizz inthe punch. Believe me, the Astors ain't got anything on us now."
Mrs. Bagstock don't seem to be listenin'. She's just gazin' aroundsmilin' vague.
"Music, wasn't there?" she goes on. "I had really forgotten havingordered an orchestra. And such lovely roses! Let me take one morelook at the dear old drawing-room. Yes, it was a success, I'm sure.Now you may ring for my maid. I--I think I will retire."
As they brushed past me on their way to the stairs I took a chance onwhisperin' to Tessie.
"Hadn't you better ring up the doc?" I suggests.
"Maybe I had," says she.
Perhaps she did, too. I expect it didn't matter much. Only I waspeeved at that boob society editor, after all the trouble I took to getthe story shaped up by one of my newspaper friends and handed in early,to have it held over for the Sunday edition. That's how it happens thepaper I takes in to Mr. Ellins Monday mornin' has these two items onthe same page--I'd marked 'em both. One was a flossy account of Mrs.Theodore Bayly Bagstock's third Wednesday; the other was six lines inthe obituary column. Old Hickory reads 'em, and then sits for aminute, gazin' over the top of his desk at nothing at all.
"Poor Natalie!" says be, after a while. "So that was her last."
"Nobody ever finished any happier, though," says I.
"Hah!" says he. "Then perhaps that balances the account."
Saying which, he clips the end off of a fat black perfecto, lights up,and tackles the mornin' mail.
