by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER XIX
TORCHY GETS A HUNCH
Course, I only got my suspicions, and I ain't in position to call forthe real facts in the case, but I'll bet if it came to a show down Icould name the master mind that wished this backache and the palmblisters on me. Uh-huh! Auntie. I wouldn't put it past her, for when itcomes to evenin' up a score she's generally right there with the goods.Deep stuff, as a rule, too.
I ain't denyin' either, but what Auntie had grounds for complaint. Maybeyou remember how she came out to spend a quiet week-end with us after anerve shatterin' night in town and near got chewed up by Buddy, thesuper-watch dog, and then was almost flooded out of bed because theattic storage tank ran over? Not that I didn't have a perfect alibi onboth counts. I did. But neither registered with Auntie.
Still, this before-breakfast sod-turnin' idea comes straight from Vee.Ever try that for an appetizer? Go on, give it a whirl. Ought to bewillin' to try anything once, you know. Some wise old guy said that, Iunderstand. I'd like to find the spot where he's laid away. I think I'dgo plant a cabbage on his grave. Anyway, he's got some little tributelike that comin' from me.
Just turnin' up sod with a spade in the dewy morn. Listens kind ofromantic, don't it! And you might like it first rate. Might agree withyou. As for me, I've discovered that my system don't demand anythinglike that. Posi-tive-ly. I gave it a good try-out and the reactionswasn't satisfactory.
You see, it was this way: there's a narrow strip down by the road whereour four-acre estate sort of pinches out, and Vee had planned to do somefancy landscape gardenin' on it--a bed of cannas down the middle, Ibelieve, and then rows of salvia, and geraniums and other things. Shehad it all mapped out on paper. Also the bulbs and potted plants hadarrived and were ready to be put in.
But it happens that Dominick, our official gardener, had all he couldjump to just then, plantin' beans and peas and corn, and the helper hedepended on to break up this roadside strip had gone back on him.
"How provoking!" says Vee. "I am so anxious to get those things in. Ifthe ground was ready I would do the planting myself. I just wish"--andthen she stops.
"Well, let's have it," says I. "What's your wish?"
"Oh, nothing much Torchy," says she. "But if I were strong enough todig up that sod I wouldn't have to wait for any pokey Italian."
"Why couldn't I do it?" I suggests reckless.
"You!" says Vee, and then snickers.
Say, if she'd come poutin' around, or said right out that she didn't seewhy I couldn't make myself useful now and then, I'd have announced flatthat gardenin' was way out of my line. But when she snickers--well, youknow how it is.
"Yessum! Me," says I. "It ain't any art, is it, just stirrin' up theground with a spade? And how do you know, Vee, but what I'm the grandestlittle digger ever was? Maybe it's a talent I've been concealin' fromyou all along."
"But it's rather hard work, turning old sod, and getting out all thegrass roots and rocks," says she. "It takes a lot of strength."
"Huh!" says I. "Feel of that right arm."
"Yes," says she, "I believe you are strong, Torchy. But when could youfind the time?"
"I'd make it," says I. "All I got to do is to roll out of the cot anhour or so earlier in the morning. Wouldn't six hours do the job? Well,two hours a day for three days, and there you are. Efficiency stuff.That's me. Lead me to it."
Vee gazes at me admirin'. "Aren't you splendid, Torchy!" says she. "AndI'm sure the exercise will do you a lot of good."
"Sure!" says I. "Most likely I'll get the habit and by the end of thesummer I'll be a reg'lar Sandow. Now where's that kitchen alarm clock?Let's see. M-m-m-m! About 5:30 will do for a starter, eh?"
Oh, I'm a determined cuss when I get going. Next mornin' the sun and mepunched in at exactly the same time, and I don't know which was mostsurprised. But there I was, associatin' with the twitterin' little birdsand the early worms, and to show I was just as happy as they were I humsa merry song as I swings out through the dewy grass with the spade overmy shoulder.
Say, there's no fake about the grass being dewy at that hour, either. Ihadn't gone more 'n a dozen steps through it before my feet were assoggy as if I'd been wadin' in a brook. I don't do any stallin' around,same as these low brow labor gangs. I pitches right in earnest andimpetuous, makin' the dirt fly. Why, I had the busy little bee lookin'like he was loafin' on a government contract.
I was just about gettin' my second wind and was puttin' in some heavylicks when I hears somebody tootin' a motor horn out in the road. Ilooks up to find that it's that sporty neighbor of mine, Nick Barrett,who now and then indulges a fad for an early spin in his strippedroadster. He has collected his particular chum, Norris Bagby, and Iexpect they're out to burn up the macadam before the traffic cops go onduty.
"What's the big idea, Torchy?" sings out Nick. "Going to bury a cat, orsomething?"
"Nothing tragic like that," says I. "Just subbin' in for the gardener.Pulling a little honest toil, such as maybe you've read about buthaven't met."
"Doing it on a bet, I suppose?" suggests Norris.
"Ah, run along and don't get comic," says I.
And with that I tears into the sod again, puttin' both shoulders and myback into the swing. I don't let up, either, until I think it must beafter 7 o'clock, and then I stops long enough to look at my watch. It'sjust 6:20. Well, I expect I slowed up some from then on. No use tryin'to dig all over that ground in one morning. And at 6:35 I discovers thatI'd raised a water blister on both palms. Ten minutes later I noticedthis ache in my back and arms.
"Oh, well!" says I, "gotta take time to change and wash up."
At that I didn't feel so bad. After a shower and a fresh outfit from thesocks up I was ready to tackle three fried eggs and two cups of coffee.On the way to the station I glanced proud at what I'd accomplished. Butsomehow it didn't look so much. Just a little place in one corner.
Course, goin' in on the 8:03 I had to stand for a lot of kiddin'.They're a great bunch of humorists, them commuters. Nick and Norrie hasspread the news around industrious about my sunrise spadin' stunt, andeverybody has to pull his little wheeze.
"How's the old back feel about now; eh, Torchy?" asks one.
"Great stuff!" says another. "Everybody does it--once."
"The boy's clever with the spade, I'll say," adds Nick. "Let's all turnout tomorrow morning and watch him. He does it regular, they tell me."
I grinned back at 'em as convincin' as I could. For somehow I wasn'tjust in the mood for grinnin'. My head was achin' more or less, and myback hurt, and my palms were sore. By noon I was a wreck. Absolutely.And when I thought of puttin' in two or three more sessions like that Ihad to groan. Could I do it? On the other hand, could I renig on the jobafter all that brash line of talk I'd given Vee?
Say, it was all I could do to limp out to luncheon. I didn't want much,but I thought maybe some tea and toast would make me feel better. And itwas in a restaurant that I ran across this grouchy Scotchman, MacGregorShinn, who sold me the place here a while back.
"Maybe you don't know it, Mac," says I, "but you're a wise guy."
"Am I, though?" says he. "I hadn't noticed it myself. Just how, now?"
"Unloadin' that country property on me," says I. "I used to wonder whyyou let go of it. I don't any more. I've got the right hunch at last.You got up bright and early one morning and tried digging around with aspade. Eh?"
Mac stares at me sort of puzzled. "Not me," says he. "Whatever put thatin your mind, me lad?"
"Ah, come!" says I. "With all that land lyin' around you was bound toget reckless with a spade some time or other. Might not have been flowerbeds you was excavatin' for, same as me. Maybe you was specializin' onspuds, or cabbages. But I'll bet you had your foolish spell."
Mr. Shinn shakes his head. "All the digging I ever did out there," sayshe, "was with a niblick in the bunkers of the Roaring Rock golf course.No, I'm wrong."
"Ha, ha!" says I. "I thought so."
"Yes," he goes on, ru
bbin' his chin reminiscent, "I mind me of onelittle job of digging I did. I had a cook once who had a fondness forgin that was scandalous. Locking it up was no good, except in my bureaudrawers, so one time when I had an extra case of Gordon come in Isneaked out at night and buried it. That was just before I sold theplace to you and--By George, me lad!"
Here he has stopped and is gazin' at me with his mouth open.
"Well?" says I.
"I canna mind digging it up again," says he.
"That doesn't sound much like a Scotchman," says I, "being so carelesswith good liquor. But you were in such a rush to get back to town maybeyou did forget. Where did you plant it?"
Mac scratches his head. "I canna seem to think," says he.
And about then I begins to get a glimmer of this brilliant thought ofmine. "Would it have been in that three-cornered strip that runs alongby the road?" I asks.
"It might," says he.
I didn't press him for any more details. I'd heard enough. I finished myinvalid's lunch and slid out. But say, when I caught the 5:13 out toHarbor Hills that afternoon I had something all doped out to slip tothat bunch of comic commuters. I laid for 'em in the smokin' car, andwhen Nick Barrett discovers me inspectin' my palm blisters he starts inwith his kidding again.
"Oh, you'll be able to get out and dig again in a week or so," says he.
"I hope so," says I.
"Still strong for it, eh?" says he.
"Maybe if you knew what I was diggin' for," says I, "you'd--well,there's no tellin'."
"Eh?" says he. "Whaddye mean?"
I shakes my head and looks mysterious.
"Isn't it green corn, or string beans that you're aimin' at, Torchy?" heasks.
"Not exactly," says I. "Vegetable raisin' ain't in my line. I leavethat to Dominick. But this--oh, well!"
"You don't mean," insists Nick, eyein' me close, "buried treasure!"
"I expect some would call it that--in these days," says I.
Uh-huh! I had him sittin' up by then, with his ear stretched. And I mustsay that from then on Nick does some scientific pumpin'. Not that I letout anything in so many words, but I'm afraid he got the idea that whatI was after was something money couldn't buy. That is, not unlesssomebody violated a sacred amendment to the grand old constitution. Infact, I may have mentioned casually that a whole case of Gordon wasworth riskin' a blister here and there.
As for Nick, he simply listens and gasps. You know how desperate some ofthem sporty ginks are, who started out so gay only a year or so ago witha private stock in the cellar that they figured would last 'em until thecountry rose in wrath and undid Mr. Volstead's famous act? Most of 'emare discoverin' what poor guessers they were. About 90 per cent arebluffin' along on home brew hooch that has all the delicate bouquet ofembalmin' fluid and produced about the same effect as a slug of liquidT. N. T., or else they're samplin' various kinds of patent medicines andperfumes. Why, I know of one thirsty soul who tries to work up a dinnerappetite by rattlin' a handful of shingle nails in the old shaker. Andif Nick Barrett has more 'n half a bottle of Martini mixture left in thehouse he sleeps with it under his pillow. So you can judge how far histongue hangs out when he gets me to hint that maybe a whole case ofGordon is buried somewhere on my premises.
"Torchy," says he, shakin' me solemn by the hand, "I wish you the bestof luck. If you'll take my advice, though, you won't mention this toanyone else."
Oh, no, I didn't. That is, only to Norrie Bagby and one or two othersthat I managed to get a word with on the ride home.
Vee was mighty sympathetic about the blisters and the way my back felt.I was dosed and plastered and put to bed at 8:30 to make up for all thesleep I'd lost at the other end of the day.
"And we'll not bother any more about the silly old flowers," says she."If Dominick can't find time to do the spading we'll just let it go."
"No," says I, firm and heroic. "I'm no quitter, Vee. I said I'd get itdone within three days and I stick to it."
"Torchy," says she, "don't you dare try getting up again at daylight andworking with your poor blistered hands. I--I shall feel dreadfully aboutit, if you do."
"Well, maybe I will skip tomorrow mornin'," says I, "but somehow orother that diggin' has got to be done."
"I only wish Auntie could hear you say that," says Vee, pattin' megently on the cheek.
"Why Auntie?" I asks.
"Oh, just because," says Vee.
With that she fixes me up all comfy on the sleepin' porch and tells meto call her if I want anything.
"I won't," says I. "I'm all set for slumber. It's goin' to be a finelarge night, ain't it!"
"Perfect," says Vee.
"Moon shinin' and everything?" says I.
"Yes," says she.
"Then here's hoping," says I.
"There, there!" says Vee. "I'm afraid you're a little feverish."
Maybe I was, but I didn't hear another thing until more 'n ten hourslater when I woke up to find the sun winkin' in at me through theshutters.
"Did you have a good night's rest?" asks Vee.
"As good as they come," says I. "How about you!"
"Oh, I slept fairly well," says she. "I was awake once or twice. Isuppose I was worrying a little about you. And then I thought I hearstrange noises."
"What sort of noises?" I asks.
"Oh, like a lot of men walking by," says she. "That must have beennearly midnight. They were talking low as they passed, and it almostsounded as if they were carrying tools of some sort. Then along towardsmorning I thought I heard them pass again. I'm sure some of them wereswearing."
"Huh!" says I. "I wonder what they could have been peeved about on sucha fine night?"
"Or I might have been simply dreaming," she adds.
"Yes, and then again," says I, smotherin' a chuckle.
I could hardly wait to dress and shave before rushin' out to inspect thespot where I'd almost ruined myself only the mornin' before. And it wassomething worth inspectin'. I'll say. Must be nearly half an acre inthat strip and I expect that sod has been growin' for years untouched bythe hand of man. At 6 P. M. last night it was just a mass of thick grassand dandelions, but now--say, a tractor plough and a gang of prairietamers couldn't have done a more thorough job. If there was a squarefoot that hadn't been torn up I couldn't see it with the naked eye.
Course, it aint all smooth and even. There was holes here and there,some of 'em three feet deep, but about all the land needed now was alittle rakin' and fillin' in, such as Dominick could do in his sparetime. The cheerin' fact remains that the hard part of the work has beendone, silent and miraculous, and without price.
I shouts for Vee to come out and see. It ain't often, either, that I canspring anything on her that leaves her stunned and bug-eyed.
"Why, Torchy!" says she, gaspy. "How in the world did you ever manageit? I--I don't understand."
"Oh, very simple!" says I. "It's all in havin' the right kind ofneighbors."
"But you don't mean," says she, "that you persuaded some of our--oh, I'msure you never could. Besides, you're grinning. Torchy, I want you totell me all about it. Come, now! Exactly what happened last night?"
"Well," says I, "not being present myself I could hardly tell that. ButI've got a good hunch."
"What is it!" she insists.
"From your report of what you heard," says I, "and from the looks of theground 'n everything, I should judge that the Harbor Hills Exploring andExcavating Co. had been making a night raid on our property."
"Pooh!" says Vee. "I never heard of such a company. But if there is one,why should they come here?"
"Oh, just prospectin', I expect," says I.
"For what?" demands Vee.
"For stuff that the 18th amendment says they can't have," says I."Gettin' down to brass tacks, for a case of dry gin."
Even that don't satisfy Vee. She demands why they should dig for anysuch thing on our land.
"They might have heard some rumor," says I, "that MacGregor Shinn wentoff and l
eft it buried there. As though a Scotchman could ever get ascareless as that. I don't believe he did. Anyway, some of them smartAlec commuters who were kiddin' me so free yesterday must have worked upblisters of their own. My guess is that they lost some sleep, too."
You don't have to furnish Vee with a diagram of a joke, you know, beforeshe sees it. At that she squints her eyes and lets out a snicker.
"I wonder, Torchy," says she, "who could have started such a rumor?"
"Yes, that's the main mystery, ain't it?" says I. "But your flower bedis about ready, ain't it?"
CHAPTER XX
GIVING 'CHITA A LOOK
I got to admit that there's some drawbacks to being a 100 per centperfect private see. Not that I mind making myself useful around thegeneral offices. I'm always willin' to roll up my sleeves any time andsave the grand old Corrugated Trust from going on the rocks. I'll take astab at anything, from meetin' a strike committee of the AmalgamatedWindow Washers' Union to subbin' in as president for Old Hickory at theannual meetin'. And between times I don't object to makin' myself ashandy as a socket wrench. That is, so long as it's something that has todo with finance, high or low.
But say, when they get to usin' me in strictly fam'ly affairs, I almostwork up a grouch. Notice the almost. Course, with this fair-and-warmerdisposition of mine I can't quite register. Not with Mr. Robert, anyway.He has such a matey, I-say-old-chap way with him. Like here the otherday when he comes strollin' out from the private office rubbin' his chinpuzzled, stares around for a minute, and then makes straight for mydesk.
"Well," says he, "I presume you noted the arrival of the prodigal son;eh, Torchy?"
"Meaning Ambrose the Ambler?" says I.
"The same," says he.
"They will come back even from South America," says I. "And you wasfigurin', I expect, how that would be a long, wet walk. But then,nothing was ever too wet for Amby, and the only fear he had of water wasthat he might get careless some time and swallow a little."
"Quite so," says Mr. Robert, grinnin'.
You see, this Ambrose Wood party is only an in-law once removed. Maybeyou remember Ferdy, who had the nerve to marry Marjorie Ellins, theheavyweight sister of Mr. Robert's, here a few years back? Well, thatwas when the Ellinses acquired a brunette member of the flock. Ambroseis a full brother of Ferdy's. In every sense. That is, he was in thegood old days when Mr. Volstead was only a name towards the end of rollcall.
I ought to know more or less about Amby for we had him here in thegeneral offices for quite some time, tryin' to discover if there wasn'tsome sphere of usefulness that would excuse us handin' him a payenvelope once a week. There wasn't. Course, we didn't try him as a paperweight or a door stop. But he had a whirl at almost everything else. Andthe result was a total loss.
For one thing, time clocks meant no more to Amby than an excursion ad.would to a Sing Sing lifer. Amby wasn't interested in 'em. He'd driftin among the file room or bond clerks, or whatever bunch he happened tobe inflicted on that particular month, at any old hour, from 10 A. M. upto 2:30 P. M. Always chirky and chipper about it, too. And his littletales about the parties he'd been to on the night before was usuallyinterestin'. Which was bad for the general morale, as you can guess.Also his light and frivolous way of chuckin' zippy lady stenogs underthe chin and callin' 'em "Dearie" didn't help his standin' any. Yeauh!He was some boy, Amby, while he lasted. Three different times BrotherFerdie was called from his happy home at night to rush down with enoughcash bail to rescue Ambrose from a cold-hearted desk sergeant, and oncehe figured quite prominent on the front page of the morning papers whenhe insisted on confidin' to the judge that him and the young lady in thetaxi was really the king and queen of Staten Island come over to visitupper Broadway. I don't doubt that Amby thought he was something of thekind at the time, too, but you know how the reporters are apt to play upan item of that kind. And of course they had to lug in the fact thatAmbrose was a near-son-in-law of the president of the Corrugated Trust.
That was where Old Hickory pushed the button for me. "Young man," sayshe, chewin' his cigar savage, "what should you say was the longeststeamer trip that one could buy a ticket for direct from New York?"
"Why," says I, "my guess would be Buenos Ayres."
"Very well," says he, "engage a one way passage on the next boat and seethat Mr. Ambrose Wood stays aboard until the steamer sails."
Which I did. Ambrose didn't show any hard feelin's over it. In fact, asI remember, he was quite cheerful. "Tell the old hard boiled egg not toworry about me," says he. "He may be able to lose me this way for awhile, but I'm not clear off the map yet. I'll be back some day."
Must have been more 'n three years ago, and as I hadn't heard Amby'sname mentioned in all that time I joined in the general surprise when Isaw him trailin' in dressed so neat and lookin' so fit.
"On his way to hand Ferdy the glad jolt, eh?" I asks.
"No," says Mr. Robert. "Ambrose seems quite willing to postpone meetinghis brother for a day or so. He has just landed, you see, and doesn'tcare to dash madly out into the suburbs. What he wishes most, as Iunderstand, is to take a long, long look at New York."
"Well, after three years' exile," says I, "you can hardly blame him forthat."
Mr. Robert hunches his shoulders. "I suppose one can't," says he. "Onlyit leaves him on my hands, as it were. Someone must do the familyhonors--dinner, theatre, all that sort of thing. And if I were not tiedup by an important committee meeting out at the country club I should bevery glad to--er--"
"Ye-e-es?" says I, glancin' at him suspicious.
"You've guessed it, Torchy," says he. "I must leave them to you."
"Whaddye mean, them?" says I. "I thought we was talking about Ambrose."
"Oh, certainly," says Mr. Robert. "But Mrs. Wood is with him, he says.In fact they came up together. Same boat. They would, you know. Charmingyoung woman. At least, so I inferred from what Ambrose said. One ofthose dark Spanish beauties such as--"
"Check!" says I. "That lets me out. All the Spanish I know is 'Multum inparvo' and I forget just what that means now. I couldn't talk to thelady a-tall."
But Mr. Robert insists I don't have to be conversational with her, orwith Ambrose, either. All he wants me to do is steer 'em to some nice,refined place regardless of expense, give 'em a welcome-home feed thatwill make 'em forget that the Ellins family is only represented byproxy, tow 'em to some high-class entertainment, like "The BoudoirGirls," and sort of see that Ambrose lands back at his hotel withouthaving got mixed up with any of his old set.
"Oh!" says I. "Kind of a he-chaperone act, eh?"
That seems to be the general idea, and as he promises to stop in at thehouse and fix things up for me at home, and pushes a roll of twenties atme to spray around with as I see fit, of course, I has to take the job.I trails in with Mr. Robert while he apologizes elaborate to Ambrose andexplains how he's had to ask me to fill in.
"Perfectly all right, old man," says Ambrose. "In fact--well, you getthe idea, eh? The little wife hasn't quite got her bearings yet. Mightfeel better about meeting her new relatives after she's been around abit. And Torchy will do fine."
He tips me the wink as Mr. Robert hurries off.
"Same old cut-up, eh, Amby?" says I.
"Who me?" says he. "No, no! Nothing like that. Old married man, steadyas a church. Uh-huh! Two years and a half in the harness. You ought tosee the happy hacienda we call home down there. Say, it's forty-eightlong miles out of Buenos Ayres. Can you picture that! El Placida's thename of the cute little burg. It looks it. They don't make 'em any moreplacid anywhere."
"I wonder you picked it then," says I.
"I didn't exactly," says Ambrose. "El Placida rather picked me. Funnyhow things work out sometimes. Got chummy with an old boy going down onthe boat, Senor Alvarado. Showed him how to play Canfield and Russianbank and gave him the prescription for mixing a Hartford stinger. Beforewe crossed the line he thought I was an ace. Wanted to know what I wasgoing to do down in his great country. 'O
h, anything that will keep mein cigarettes,' says I. 'You come with me and learn the wool business,'says he. 'It's a bet,' says I. So instead of being stranded in a strangeland and nibbling the shrubbery for lunch, as my dear brother and theEllinses had doped out, I lands easy on my feet with a salary thatstarts when I walks down the gank plank. Only I have to be in El Placidato draw my pay."
"But you made good, did you?" I asks.
"I did as long as Senor Alvarado was around to back me up," says Amby,"but when he slides down to the city for a week's business trip andturns me over to that Scotch superintendent of his the going got kind ofrough. Mr. McNutt sends me out with a flivver to buy wool around thecountry. Looked easy. Buying things used to be my long suit. I bought alot of wool. But I expect some of them low-browed rancheros must havegypped me good and plenty. Anyway, McNutt threw a fit when he lookedover my bargains. He didn't do a thing but fire me, right off the reel.Honest, I'd never been fired so impetuous or so enthusiastic. He invitesme to get off the place, which means hiking back to Buenos Ayres.
"Well, what can you do with a Scotchman who's mad clear to the marrow?Especially a rough actor like McNutt. I'd already done a mile from thevillage when along comes 'Chita in her roadster. You know, old manAlvarado's only daughter. Some senorita, 'Chita is. You should have seenthose black eyes of her's flash when she heard how abrupt I'd beenturned loose. 'We shall go straight to papa,' says she. 'He will tellSenor McNutt where he gets off.' She meant well, 'Chita. But I had mydoubts. I knew that Alvarado was pretty strong for McNutt. I'd heard himsay there wasn't another man in the Argentine who knew more about woolthan McNutt, and if it came to a showdown as to which of us stayed on Iwouldn't have played myself for a look in.
"So while 'Chita is stepping on the gas button and handing out a swellline of sympathy I begins to hint that there's one particular reason whyI hated to leave El Placida. Oh, we'd played around some before that.Strictly off stage stuff, though; a little mandolin practice in themoonlight, a few fox trot lessons, and so on. But before the old man I'dlet on to be skirt shy. It went big with him, I noticed. But there inthe car I decides that the only way to keep in touch with the familycheck book is to make a quick bid for 'Chita. So I cut loose with thebest Romeo lines I had in stock. Twice 'Chita nearly ditched us, butfinally she pulls up alongside the road and gives her whole attentionto what I had to say. Oh, they know how to take it, those sonoritas.She'd had a whole string of young rancheros and caballeros danglingaround her for the past two years. But somehow I must have had a luckybreak, for the next thing I knew we'd gone to a fond clinch and it wasall over except the visit to the church."
"And you married the job, eh?" says I. "Fast work, I'll say. But how didpapa take it?"
"Well, for the first ten minutes," says Ambrose, "I thought I'd beencaught out in a thunderstorm while an earthquake and a sham battle werebeing staged. But pretty soon he got himself soothed down, patted me onthe shoulder and remarked that maybe I'd do as well as some others thathe hadn't much use for. And while he didn't make McNutt eat his words oranything like that, he gave him to understand that a perfectly goodson-in-law wasn't expected to be such a shark at shopping for wool.Anyway, we've been getting along fairly well ever since. You have to, ina place like El Placida."
"And this is a little postponed honeymoon tour, eh?" I suggests.
"Hardly," says Ambrose. "I hope it's a clean break away from thecontinent of South America in general and El Placida in particular."
"Oh!" says I. "Will Senor Alvarado stake you to that?"
"He isn't staking anybody now," says Ambrose. "Uh-huh! Checked out lastwinter. Good old scout. Left everything to 'Chita, the whole works. AndI've been ever since then trying to convince her that the one spot worthliving in anywhere on the map is this little old burg with Broadwayrunning through the middle."
"That ought to be easy," says I.
"Not with a girl who's been brought up to think that Buenos Ayres is thelast word in cities," says Ambrose. "Why, she's already begun to feelsorry for the bellhops and taxi drivers and salesladies because she'sdiscovered that not one of 'em knows a word of Spanish. Asks me how allthese people manage to amuse themselves evenings with no opera to go to,no band playing on the plaza, and so on. See what I'm up against,Torchy?"
"I get a glimmer," says I.
"That's why I'm glad you are going to tow us around," he goes on,"instead of Bob Ellins. He's a back number, Bob. Me, too, from havingbeen out of it all so long. Why, I've only been scouting about a little,but I can't find any of the old joints."
"Yes, a lot of 'em have been put out of business," says I.
"Must be new ones just as good though," he insists. "The live wireshave to rally around somewhere."
"I don't know about that," says I. "This prohibition has put a crimpin--"
"Oh, you can't tell me!" breaks in Ambrose. "Maybe it's dimmed thelights some in Worcester and Toledo and Waukegan, but not in good oldManhattan. Not much! I know the town too well. Our folks just wouldn'tstand for any of that Sahara bunk. Not for a minute. Might have coveredup a bit--high sign necessary, side entrances only, and all that. Butyou can't run New York without joy water. It's here. And so are the gaylads and lassies who uncork it. We want to mingle with 'em, 'Chita andyours truly. I want her to see the lights where they're brightest, thegirls where they're gayest. Want to show her how the wheels go 'round.You get me; eh, Torchy?"
"Sure!" says I.
What was the use wastin' any more breath? Besides, I'd been hearin' alot of these young hicks talk big about spots where the lid could bepried off. Maybe it was so. Ambrose and 'Chita should have a look,anyway. And I spent the rest of the afternoon interviewin' sportyacquaintances over the 'phone, gettin' dope on where to hunt for activecapers and poppin' corks. I must say, too, that most of the steers werea little vague. But, then, you can't tell who's who these days, with somany ministers givin' slummin' parties and Federal agents so thick.
When I sails around to the Plutoria to collect Amby and wife about 6:30I finds 'Chita all gussied up like she was expectin' big doings. Quite astunner she is, with them high voltage black eyes, and the gold earhoops, and in that vivid colored evening gown. And by the sparkle in hereyes I can guess she's all primed for a reg'lar party.
"How about the old Bonaparte for the eats?" I says to Ambrose.
"Swell!" says he. "I remember giving a little dinner for four there oncewhen we opened--"
"Yes, I know," says I. "Here's the taxi."
Did look like kind of a jolly bunch, too, down there in the olddining-room--orchestra jabbin' away, couple of real Jap girls floatin'around with cigars and cigarettes, and all kinds of glasses on thetables. But you should have seen Amby's jaw drop when he grabs the winelist and starts to give an order.
"What the blazes is a grenadine cocktail or--or a pineapple punch?" hedemands.
"By me," says I. "Why not sample some of it?"
Which he does eager. "Bah!" says he. "Call that a cocktail, do they?Nothing but sweetened water colored up. Here, waiter! Call the chief."
All Ambrose could get out of the head waiter, though, was shouldershrugs and regrets. Nothing doing in the real red liquor line. "Thechampagne cider iss ver' fine, sir," he adds.
"Huh!" says Ambrose. "Ought to be at four fifty a quart. Well, we'lltake a chance."
Served it in a silver bucket, too. It had the familiar pop, and thebubbles showed plain in the hollow stemmed glasses, but you could drinka gallon of it without feelin' inspired to do anything wilder than callfor a life preserver.
The roof garden girl-show that we went to afterwards was a zippyperformance, after it's kind. Also there was a bar in the lobby. Ambyshoved up to that prompt--and came back with two pink lemonades, at 75cents a throw.
"Well," says I, "ain't there mint on top and a cherry in the bottom?"
"And weak lemonade in between," grumbles Ambrose. "What do they take mefor, a gold fish?"
"We'll try a cabaret next," says I.
We did. They h
ad the place fixed up fancy, too, blue and green toyballoons floatin' around the ceilin', a peacock in a big gold cage,tables ranged around the dancin' space, and the trombone artist puttin'his whole soul into a pumpin' out "The Alcoholic Blues." And you couldorder most anything off the menu, from a poulet casserole to a cheesesandwich. Amby and 'Chita splurged on a cafe parfait and a grape juicerickey. Other dissipated couples at nearby tables were indulgin' incanapes of caviar and frosted sarsaparillas. But shortly after midnightthe giddy revellers begun to thin out and the girl waiters got yawny.
"How about a round of strawb'ry ice cream sodas; eh, Amby?" I suggests.
"No," says he, "I'm no high school girl. I've put away so much of thatsweet slush now that I'll be bilious for a week. But say, Torchy, honestto goodness, is Broadway like this all the time now?"
"No," says I. "They're goin' to have a Y.W.C.A. convention here nextweek and I expect that'll stir things up quite a bit."
"Sorry," says Amby, "but I shan't be here."
"No?" says I.
"Pos-i-tively," says Ambrose. "'Chita and I will be on our way back bythat time; back to good old Buenos Ayres, where there's more doing in aminute than happens the whole length of Broadway in a month. And listen,old son; when we open a bottle something besides the pop will come outof it." "Better hurry," says I. "Maybe Pussyfoot Johnson's down therenow monkeying with the constitution."
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SEWELL FORD'S STORIES
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
SHORTY McCABE. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. A very humorous story. The hero, an independent and vigorous thinker, sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way.
SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy with human nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites for "side-stepping with Shorty."
SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped right up to the minute. He aids in the right distribution of a "conscience fund," and gives joy to all concerned.
SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio for physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at swell yachting parties.
TORCHY. Illus, by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg. A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to the youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the story of his experiences.
TRYING OUT TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in the previous book.
ON WITH TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. Torchy falls desperately in love with "the only girl that ever was," but that young society woman's aunt tries to keep the young people apart, which brings about many hilariously funny situations.
TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary tor the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and infectious American slang.
WILT THOU TORCHY. Illus. by F. Snapp and A. W. Brown. Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West Coast, in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust and with his friend's aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt's permission to place an engagement ring on Vee's finger.
Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
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JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S STORIES OF ADVENTURE
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
THE RIVER'S END A story of the Royal Mounted Police.
THE GOLDEN SNARE Thrilling adventures in the Far Northland.
NOMADS OF THE NORTH The story of a bear-cub and a dog.
KAZAN The tale of a "quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky" torn between the call of the human and his wild mate.
BAREE, SON OF KAZAN The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gallant part he played in the lives of a man and a woman.
THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and his battle with Captain Plum.
THE DANGER TRAIL A tale of love, Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the North.
THE HUNTED WOMAN A tale of a great fight in the "valley of gold" for a woman.
THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH The story of Fort o' God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness is blended with the courtly atmosphere of France.
THE GRIZZLY KING The story of Thor, the big grizzly.
ISOBEL A love story of the Far North.
THE WOLF HUNTERS A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness.
THE GOLD HUNTERS The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds.
THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women.
BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY A thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was made from this book.
Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
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RALPH CONNOR'S STORIES OF THE NORTHWEST
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND The clean-hearted, strong-limbed man of the West leaves his hills and forests to fight the battle for freedom in the old world.
BLACK ROCK A story of strong men in the mountains of the West.
THE SKY PILOT A story of cowboy life, abounding in the freshest humor, the truest tenderness and the finest courage.
THE PROSPECTOR A tale of the foothills and of the man who came to them to lend a hand to the lonely men and women who needed a protector.
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY This narrative brings us into contact with elemental and volcanic human nature and with a hero whose power breathes from every word.
GLENGARRY SCHOOL DAYS In this rough country of Glengarry, Ralph Connor has found human nature in the rough.
THE DOCTOR The story of a "preacher-doctor" whom big men and reckless men loved for his unselfish life among them.
THE FOREIGNER A tale of the Saskatchewan and of a "foreigner" who made a brave and winning fight for manhood and love.
CORPORAL CAMERON This splendid type of the upright, out-of-door man about which Ralph Connor builds all his stories, appears again in this book.
Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
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THE NOVELS OF GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
THE BEST MAN Through a strange series of adventures a young man finds himself propelled up the aisle of a church and married to a strange girl.
A VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS On her way West the heroine steps off by mistake at a lonely watertank into a maze of thrilling events.
THE ENCHANTED BARN Every member of the family will enjoy this spirited chronicle of a young girl's resourcefulness and pluck, and the secret of the "enchanted" barn.
THE WITNESS The fascinating story of the enormous change an incident wrought in a man's life.
MARCIA SCHUYLER A picture of ideal girlhood set in the time of full skirts and poke bonnets.
LO, MICHAEL! A story of unfailing appeal to all who love and understand boys.
THE MAN OF THE DESERT An intensely moving love story of a man of the desert and a girl of the East pictured against the background of the Far West.
PHOEBE DEANE A tense and charming love story, told with a grace and a fervor with which only Mrs. Lutz could tell it.
DAWN OF THE MORNING A romance of the last century with all of its old-fashioned charm. A companion volume to "Mar
cia Schuyler" and "Phoebe Deane."
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ELEANOR H. PORTER'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
JUST DAVID The tale of a loveable boy and the place he comes to fill in the hearts of the gruff farmer folk to whose care he is left.
THE ROAD TO UNDERSTANDING A compelling romance of love and marriage.
OH, MONEY! MONEY! Stanley Fulton, a wealthy bachelor, to test the dispositions of his relatives, sends them each a check for $100,000, and then as plain John Smith comes among them to watch the result of his experiment.
SIX STAR RANCH A wholesome story of a club of six girls and their summer on Six Star Ranch.
DAWN The story of a blind boy whose courage leads him through the gulf of despair into a final victory gained by dedicating his life to the service of blind soldiers.
ACROSS THE YEARS Short stories of our own kind and of our own people. Contains some of the best writing Mrs. Porter has done.
THE TANGLED THREADS In these stories we find the concentrated charm and tenderness of all her other books.
THE TIE THAT BINDS Intensely human stories told with Mrs. Porter's wonderful talent for warm and vivid character drawing.
Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
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ETHEL M. DELL'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
THE LAMP IN THE DESERT The scene of this splendid story is laid in India and tells of the lamp of love that continues to shine through all sorts of tribulations to final happiness.
GREATHEART The story of a cripple whose deformed body conceals a noble soul.
THE HUNDREDTH CHANCE A hero who worked to win even when there was only "a hundredth chance."
THE SWINDLER The story of a "bad man's" soul revealed by a woman's faith.
THE TIDAL WAVE Tales of love and of women who learned to know the true from the false.
THE SAFETY CURTAIN A very vivid love story of India. The volume also contains four other long stories of equal interest.
Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
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EDGAR RICE BURROUGH'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
TARZAN THE UNTAMED Tells of Tarzan's return to the life of the ape-man in his search for vengeance on those who took from him his wife and home.
JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN Records the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan proves his right to ape kingship.
A PRINCESS OF MARS Forty-three million miles from the earth--a succession of the weirdest and most astounding adventures in fiction. John Carter, American, finds himself on the planet Mars, battling for a beautiful woman, with the Green Men of Mars, terrible creatures fifteen feet high, mounted on horses like dragons.
THE GODS OF MARS Continuing John Carter's adventures on the Planet Mars, in which he does battle against the ferocious "plant men," creatures whose mighty tails swished their victims to instant death, and defies Issus, the terrible Goddess of Death, whom all Mars worships and reveres.
THE WARLORD OF MARS Old acquaintances, made in the two other stories, reappear, Tars Tarkas, Tardos Mors and others. There is a happy ending to the storv in the union of the Warlord, the title conferred upon John Carter, with Drjah Thoris.
THUVIA, MAID OF MARS The fourth volume of the series. The story centers around the adventures of Carthoris, the son of John Carter and Thuvia, daughter of a Martian Emperor.
Grosset & Dunlap. Publishers, New York
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BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal young people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent of the time when the reader was Seventeen.
PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a finished, exquisite work.
PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm. Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable phases of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile prankishness that have ever been written.
THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers. Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a fine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success.
THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a country editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love interest.
THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement, drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister.
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