by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER XV
STANLEY TAKES THE JAZZ CURE
I remember how thrilled Vee gets when she first discovers that these newpeople in Honeysuckle Lodge are old friends of hers. I expect somepoetical real estater wished that name on it. Anyway, it's the properthing out here in Harbor Hills to call your place after some sort ofshrubbery or tree. And maybe this little stone cottage effect with thegreen tiled roof and the fieldstone gate posts did have some honeysucklegrowin' around somewhere. It's a nice enough shack, what there is of it,though if I'd been layin' out the floor plan I'd have had less cut-underfront porch and more elbow room inside. However, as there are only twoof the Rawsons it looked like it would do. That is, it did at first.
"Just think, Torchy," says Vee. "I haven't seen Marge since we were atboarding school together. Why, I didn't even know she was married,although I suppose she must be by this time."
"Well, she seems to have found a male of the species without your help,"says I. "Looks like a perfectly good man, too."
"Oh, I'm sure he must be," says Vee, "or Marge wouldn't have had him. Infact, I know he is, for I used to hear more or less about StanleyRawson, even when we were juniors. I believe they were half engagedthen. Such a jolly, lively fellow, and so full of fun. Won't it be nicehaving them so near?"
"Uh-huh!" says I.
Not that we've been lonesome since we moved out on our four-acre LongIsland estate, but I will say that young married couples of about ourown age haven't been so plenty. Not the real folksy kind. Course, thereare the Cecil Rands, but they don't do much but run a day and nightnursery for those twins of theirs. They're reg'lar Class A twins, too,and I expect some day they'll be more or less interestin'; but afterthey've been officially exhibited to you four or five times, and you'veheard all about the system they're being brought up on, and how manyounces of Pasteurized cow extract they sop up a day, and at whattemperature they get it, and how often they take their naps and soon---- Well, sometimes I'm thankful the Rands didn't have triplets. WhenI've worked up enthusiasm for twins about four times, and remarked howcunnin' of them to look so much alike, and confessed that I couldn'ttell which was Cecillia and which Cecil, Jr., I feel that I've sort ofexhausted the subject.
So whenever Vee suggests that we really ought to go over and see theRands again I can generally think up an alibi. Honest, I aint jealousof their twins. I'm glad they've got 'em. Considerin' Cecil, Sr., andall I'll say it was real noble of 'em. But until I can think upsomething new to shoot about twins I'm strong for keepin' away.
Then there are Mr. and Mrs. Jerry Kipp, but they're ouija board addictsand count it a dull evening when they can't gather a few seriousthinkers around the dinin' room table under a dim light and spell out amessage from Little Bright Wings, who checked out from croup at the ageof six and still wants her Uncle Jerry to know that she thinks of himout there in the great beyond. I wouldn't mind hearin' from the spiritland now and then if the folks there had anything worth sayin', but whenthey confine their chat to fam'ly gossip it seems to me like a waste oftime. Besides, I always come home from the Kipps feelin' creepy down theback.
So you could hardly blame Vee for welcomin' some new arrivals in theneighborhood, or for bein' so chummy right from the start. She asks theRawsons over for dinner, tips Mrs. Rawson off where she can get awash-lady who'll come in by the day and otherwise extends the glad hand.
Seems to be a nice enough party, young Mrs. Rawson. Kind of easy to lookat and with an eye twinkle that suggests a disposition to cut upoccasionally. Stanley is a good runnin' mate, so far as looks go. Hecould almost pose for a collar ad, with that straight nose and clean cutchin of his. But he's a bit stiff and stand-offish, at first.
"Oh, he'll get over that," says Vee. "You see, he comes from some littleplace down in Georgia where the social set is limited to three familiesand he isn't quite sure whether we know who our grandfathers were."
"It'll be all off then if he asks about mine," says I.
But he don't. He wants to know what I think of the recent slump in Julycotton deliveries and if I believe the foreign credits situation looksany better.
"Why, I hadn't thought much about either," says I, "but I've had a goodhunch handed me that the Yanks are goin' to show strong for the pennantthis season."
Stanley just stares at me and after that confines his remarks to statin'that he don't care for mint sauce on roast lamb and that he never takescoffee at night.
"Huh!" says I to Vee afterward. "When does he spring that jolly stuff?Or was that conundrum about July cotton a vaudeville gag that got pastme?"
No, I hadn't missed any cues. Vee explains that young Mr. Rawson hasbeen sent up to New York as assistant manager of a Savannah firm ofcotton brokers and is taking his job serious.
"That's good," says I, "but he don't need to lug it to the dinner table,does he?"
We gave the Rawsons a week to get settled before droppin' in on 'em foran evenin' call, and I'd prepared for it by readin' up on the cottonmarket. Lucky I did, too, for we discovers Stanley at his desk with agreen eye-shade draped over his classic brow and a lot of crop reportsspread out before him. Durin' the next hour, while the girls werechattin' merry in the other corner of the livin' room, Stanley gave methe straight dope on boll weevils, the labor conditions in Manchester,and the poor prospects for long staple. I finished, as you might say,with both ears full of cotton.
"Stanley's going to be a great help--I don't think," says I to Vee."Why, he's got cotton on the brain."
"Now let's not be critical, Torchy," says Vee. "Marge told me all aboutit, how Stanley is a good deal worried over his business and so on. He'sreally doing very well, you know, but he can't seem to leave his officetroubles behind, the way you do. He wants to make a big success, buthe's so afraid something will go wrong----"
"There's no surer way of pullin' down trouble," says I. "Next thing heknows he'll be tryin' to sell cotton in his sleep, and from that stageto a nerve sanitarium is only a hop."
Not that I tries to reform Stanley. Nay, nay, Natalia. I may go throughsome foolish motions now and then, but regulatin' the neighbors ain'tone of my secret vices. We allows the Rawsons to map out their ownprogram, which seems to consist in stickin' close to their own fireside,with Marge on one side readin' letters about the gay doin's of her oldfriends at home, and Stanley on the other workin' up furrows in his browover what might not happen to spot cotton day after tomorrow. They'dpassed up a chance to join the Country Club, had declined with thankswhen Vee asked 'em to go in on a series of dinner dances with some ofthe young married set, and had even shied at taking an evening off forone of Mrs. Robert Ellins' musical affairs.
"Thanks awfully," says Stanley, "but I have no time for socialfrivolities."
"Gosh!" says I. "I hope you don't call two hours of Greig frivolous."
That seems to be his idea, though. Anything that ain't connected withquotations on carload lots or domestic demands for middlings he looks atscornful. He tells me he's on the trail of a big foreign contract, butis afraid its going to get away from him.
"Maybe you'd linger on for a year or so if it did," I suggests.
"Perhaps," says he, "but I intend to let nothing distract me from mywork."
And then here a few days later I runs across him making for the 5:03with two giggly young sub-debs in tow. After he's planted 'em in a seatand stowed their hand luggage and wraps on the rack I slips into thevacant space with him behind the pair.
"Where'd you collect the sweet young things, Stanley?" says I.
He shakes his head and groans. "Think of it!" says he. "Marge's folkshad to chase off to Bermuda for the Easter holidays and so they wishPolly, the kid sister, onto us for two whole weeks. Not only that, butPolly has the nerve to bring along this Dot person, her roommate atboarding school. What on earth we're ever going to do with them I'm sureI don't know."
"Is Polly the one with the pointed chin and the I-dare-you pout?" Iasks.
"No, that's Dot," says he. "Polly's the one with the
cheek dimples andthe disturbing eyes. She's a case, too."
"They both look like they might be live wires," says I. "I see they'vebrought their mandolins, also. And what's so precious in the bundle youhave on your knees?"
"Jazz records," says Stanley. "I've a mind to shove them under the seatand forget they're there."
He don't though, for that's the only bundle Polly asks about when weunload at our home station. I left Stanley negotiatin' with theexpressman to deliver two wardrobe trunks and went along chucklin' tomyself.
"My guess is that Dot and Polly are in for kind of a pokey vacation," Itells Vee. "Unless they can get as excited over the cotton market asStanley does."
"The poor youngsters!" says Vee. "They might as well be visiting on adesert island, for Marge knows hardly anyone in the place but us."
She's a great one for spillin' sympathy, and for followin' it up whenshe can with the helpin' hand. So a couple of nights later I'm draggedout on a little missionary expedition over to Honeysuckle Lodge, theobject being to bring a little cheer into the dull gray lives of theRawsons' young visitors. Vee makes me doll up in an open face vest anddinner coat, too.
"The girls will like it, I'm sure," says she.
"Very well," says I. "If the sight of me in a back number Tuck will liftthe gloom from any young hearts, here goes. I hope the excitement don'tprove too much for 'em, though."
I'd kind of doped it out that we'd find the girls sittin' around awedand hushed; while Stanley indulged in his usual silent struggle withsome great business problem; or maybe they'd be over in a far corneryawnin' through a game of Lotto. But you never can tell. From two blocksaway we could see that the house was all lit up, from cellar to sleepin'porch.
"Huh!" says I. "Stanley must be huntin' a burglar, or something."
"No," says Vee. "Hear the music. If I didn't know I should think theywere giving a party."
"Who would they give it to?" I asks.
And yet when the maid lets us in hanged if the place ain't full ofpeople, mostly young hicks in evenin' clothes, but with a fair sprinklin'of girls in flossy party dresses. All the livin' room furniture had beenshoved into the dinin' room, the rugs rolled into the corners, and themusic machine is grindin' out the Blitzen Blues, accompanied by the twomandolins.
In the midst of all this merry scene I finds Stanley wanderin' aboutsort of dazed and unhappy.
"Excuse us for crashin' in on a party," says I. "We came over with theidea that maybe Polly and Dot would be kind of lonesome."
"Lonesome!" says Stanley. "Say, I ask you, do they look it?"
"Not at the present writing," says I.
That was statin' the case mild, too. Over by the music machine Dot and ayouth who's sportin' his first aviation mustache--one of them clippedeyebrow affairs--are tinklin' away on the mandolins with their headsclose together, while in the middle of the floor Polly and a blond younggent who seems to be fairly well contented with himslf are practicin'some new foxtrot steps, with two other youngsters waitin' to cut in.
"Where did you round up all the perfectly good men?" I asks.
"I didn't," says Stanley. "That's what amazes me. Where did they allcome from? Why, I supposed the girls didn't know a soul in the place.Said they didn't on the way out. Yet before we'd left the station twoyouths appeared who claimed they'd met Polly somewhere and asked if theycouldn't come up that evening. The next morning they brought around twoothers, and some girls, for a motor trip. By afternoon the crowd hadincreased to a dozen, and they were all calling each other by theirfirst names and speaking of the aggregation as 'the bunch.' I came hometonight to find a dinner party of six and this dance scheduled. Now tellme, how do they do it?"
"It's by me," says I. "But maybe this kid sister-in-law of yours and herchum are the kind who don't have to send out S. O. S. signals. And ifthis keeps up I judge you're let in for a merry two weeks."
"Merry!" says Stanley. "I should hardly call it that. How am I going tothink in a bedlam like this?"
"Must you think?" says I.
"Of course," says he. "But if this keeps up we shall go crazy."
"Oh, I don't know," says I. "You may, but I judge that Mrs. Rawson willsurvive. She seems to be endurin' it all right," and I glances overwhere Marge is allowin' a youngster of 19 or so to lead her out for thenext dance.
"Oh, Marge!" says Stanley. "She's always game for anything. But shehasn't the business worries and responsibilities that I have. Do youknow, Torchy, the cotton situation is about to reach a crisis and if Icannot put through a----"
"Come on, Torchy," breaks in Vee. "Let's try this one."
"Sure!" says I. "Although I'm missin' some mighty thrillin' informationabout what's going to happen to cotton."
"Oh, bother cotton!" says Vee. "It would do Stanley good to forget abouthis silly old business for a little while. Look at him! Why, you wouldthing he was a funeral."
"Or that he was just reportin' as chairman of the grand jury," says I.
"And little Polly is having such a good time, isn't she?" goes on Vee.
"I expect she is," says I. "She's goin' through the motions, anyway."
Couldn't have been more than 16 or so, Polly. But she has a face like aflower, the disposition of a butterfly, and a pair of eyes thatshouldn't be used away from home without dimmers on. I expect she don'tknow how high voltage they are or she wouldn't roll 'em around soreckless. It's entertainin' just to sit on the side lines and watch herpull this baby-vamp act of hers and then see the victims squirm. Say, atthe end of a dance some of them youths didn't know whether they wasleadin' Polly to a corner or walkin' over a pink cloud with snowshoeson. And friend Dot ain't such a poor performer herself. Her strong lineseems to be to listen to 'em patient while they tells her all they know,and remark enthusiastic at intervals: "Oh, I think that's simp-lywon-n-n-nderful!" After they'd hear her say it about five times most of'em seemed to agree with her that they were wonderful, and I heard oneyoung hick confide to another: "She's a good pal, Dot. Understands afellow, y'know."
Honest, I was havin' so much fun minglin' with the younger set that way,and gettin' my dancin' toes limbered up once more, that it's quite ashock to glance at the livin' room clock and find it pointin' to 1:30.As we were leavin', though, friend Dot has just persuaded Stanley to trya one-step with her and I had to snicker when he goes whirlin' off. Iexpect either she or Polly had figured out that the only way to keep himfrom turnin' off the lights was to get him into the game.
From all the reports we had Polly and Dot got through their vacationwithout being very lonesome. Somehow or other Honeysuckle Lodge seems tohave been established as the permanent headquarters of "the bunch," andmost any time of day or night you could hear jazz tunes comin' fromthere, or see two or three cars parked outside. And, although the cottonmarket was doing flip-flops about that time I don't see any signs ofnervous breakdown about Stanley. In fact, he seems to have bucked up alot.
"Well, how about that foreign contract?" I asks reckless one mornin' aswe meets on the train.
"Oh, I have that all sewed up," says Stanley. "One of those young chapswho came to see Polly so much gave me a straight tip on who tosee--someone who had visited at his home. Odd way to get it, eh? But Igot a lot out of those boys. Rather miss them, you know."
"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at him.
"Been brushing up on my dancing, too," goes on Stanley. "And say, ifthere's still a vacancy in that dinner dance club I think Marge and Iwould like to go in."
"But I thought you said you didn't dance any more?" says I.
"I didn't think I could," says Stanley, "until Dot got me at it againthe other night. Why, do you know, she quite encouraged me. Shesaid----"
"Uh-huh!" says I. "I know. She said, 'Oh, I think you're a wonderfuldancer, simp-ly won-n-n-n-derful!' Didn't she now?"
First off Stanley stiffens up like he was goin' to be peeved. But thenhe remembers and lets out chuckle. "Yes," says he, "I believe those wereher exact words. Perhaps she was right, too. And if I have
such anunsuspected talent as that shouldn't I exercise it occasionally? I leaveit to you."
"You've said it, Stanley," says I. "And after all, I guess you're goin'to be a help. You had a narrow call, though."
"From what?" asks Stanley.
"Premature old age," says I, givin' him the friendly grin.
