by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER XVIII
JOY RIDING WITH AUNTY
Was I? Then I must have been thinking of Dyke Mallory. And say, I don'tknow how you feel about it, but I figure that anybody who can supply mewith a hang-over grin good for three days ain't lived in vain. Whateverit's worth, I'm on his books for just that much.
I'll admit, too, that this Dyckman chap ain't apt to get many credits bythe sweat of his brow or the fag of his brain. There's plenty of folkswould class him as so much plain nuisance, and I have it from him thathis own fam'ly puts it even stronger. That's one of his specialties,confidin' to strangers how unpop'lar he is at home. Why, he hadn't beento the studio more'n twice, and I'd just got next to the fact that he wasa son of Mr. Craig Mallory, and was suggestin' a quarterly account forhim, when he gives me the warnin' signal.
"Don't!" says he. "I draw my allowance the fifteenth, and unless you getit away from me before the twentieth you might as well tear up the bill.No use sending it to the pater, either. He'd renig."
"Handing you a few practical hints along the economy line, eh?" says I.
"Worse than that," says Dyke. "It's a part of my penance for being theGreat Disappointment. The whole family is down on me. Guess you don'tknow about my Aunt Elvira?"
I didn't, and there was no special reason why I should; but before I canthrow the switch Dyke has got the deputy sheriff grip on the Mallorys'private skeleton and is holdin' him up and explainin' his anatomy.
Now, from all I'd ever seen or heard, I'd always supposed Mr. CraigMallory to be one of the safety vault crowd. Course, they live at Number4 West; but that's near enough to the avenue for one of the old fam'lies.And when you find a man who puts in his time as chairman of regattacommittees, and judgin' hackneys, and actin' as vice president of a swellclub, you're apt to rate him in the seven figure bunch, at least.Accordin' to Duke, though, the Mallory income needed as much stretchin'as the pay of a twenty-dollar clothing clerk tryin' to live in athirty-five dollar flat. And this is the burg where you can be as hard upon fifty thousand a year as on five hundred!
The one thing the Mallorys had to look forward to was the time when AuntElvira would trade her sealskin sack for a robe of glory and loosen up onher real estate. She was near seventy, Aunty was, and when she first wentout to live at the old country place, up beyond Fort George, it was agood half-day's trip down to 23d-st. But she went right on livin', andNew York kept right on growin', and now she owns a cow pasture two blocksfrom a subway station, and raises potatoes on land worth a thousanddollars a front foot.
Bein' of different tastes and habits, her and Brother Craig never gotalong together very well, and there was years when each of 'em tried toforget that the other existed. When little Dyckman came, though, thefrost was melted. She hadn't paid any attention to the girls; but a boywas diff'rent. Never havin' had a son of her own to boss around and bragabout, she took it out on Dyke. A nice, pious old lady, Aunt Elvira was;and the mere fact that little Dyke seemed to fancy the taste of a moroccocovered New Testament she presented to him on his third birthday settledhis future in her mind.
"He shall be a Bishop!" says she, and hints that accordin' as Dyckmanshows progress along that line she intends loadin' him up with worldlygoods.
Up to the age of fifteen, Dyke gives a fair imitation of a Bishop in thebud. He's a light haired, pleasant spoken youth, who stands well with hisSunday school teacher and repeats passages from the Psalms for AuntElvira when she comes down to inflict her annual visit.
But from then on the bulletins wa'n't so favor'ble. At the diff'rentprep. schools where he was tried out he appeared to be too much of a liveone to make much headway with the dead languages. About the only subjectshe led his class in was hazing and football and buildin' bonfires of theschool furniture. Being expelled got to be so common with him thattowards the last he didn't stop to unpack his trunk.
Not that these harrowin' details was passed on to Aunt Elvira. TheMallorys begun by doctorin' the returns, and they developed into reg'larexperts at the game of representin' to Aunty what a sainted little fellowDyke was growin' to be. The more practice they got, the harder theirimaginations was worked; for by the time Dyckman was strugglin' throughhis last year at college he'd got to be such a full blown hickey boy thathe'd have been spotted for a sport in a blind asylum.
So they had to invent one excuse after another to keep Aunt Elvira fromseein' him, all the while givin' her tales about how he was soon to breakinto the divinity school; hoping, of course, that Aunty would get tiredof waitin' and begin to unbelt.
"They overdid it, that's all," says Dyke. "Healthy looking Bishop I'dmake! What?"
"You ain't got just the style for a right reverend, that's a fact," saysI.
Which wa'n't any wild statement of the case, either. He's a tall, loosejointed, slope shouldered young gent, with a long, narrow face, gen'rallyornamented by a cigarette; and he has his straw colored hair cut plush.His costume is neat but expensive,--double reefed trousers, wide soledshoes, and a green yodler's hat with the bow on behind. He talks with thekind of English accent they pick up at New Haven, and when he's in reposehe tries to let on he's so bored with life that he's in danger of fallin'asleep any minute.
Judgin' from Dyke's past performances, though, there wa'n't manysomnolent hours in it. But in spite of all the trouble he'd got into, Icouldn't figure him out as anything more'n playful. Course, rough housin'in rathskellers until they called out the reserves, and turnin' the firehose on a vaudeville artist from a box, and runnin' wild with a capturedtrolley car wa'n't what you might call innocent boyishness; but, afterall, there wa'n't anything real vicious about Dyke.
Playful states it. Give him a high powered tourin' car, with a bunch ofeight or nine from the football squad aboard, and he liked to tear aroundthe State of Connecticut burnin' the midnight gasolene and lullin' thevillagers to sleep with the Boula-Boula song. Perfectly harmless fun--ifthe highways was kept clear. All the frat crowd said he was a goodfellow, and it was a shame to bar him out from takin' a degree just onaccount of his layin' down on a few exams. But that's what the facultydid, and the folks at home was wild.
Dyke had been back and on the unclassified list for nearly a year now,and the prospects of his breakin' into the divinity school was growin'worse every day. He'd jollied Mr. Mallory into lettin' him have a littletwo-cylinder roadster, and his only real pleasure in life was when hecould load a few old grads on the runnin' board and go off for a joyride.
But after the old man had spent the cost of a new machine in police courtfines and repairs, even this little diversion was yanked away. The lastbroken axle had done the business, and the nearest Dyke could come toreal enjoyment was when he had the price to charter a pink taxi andinspire the chauffeur with highballs enough so he'd throw her wide openon the way back.
Not bein' responsible for Dyke, I didn't mind having him around. I kindof enjoyed the cheerful way he had of tellin' about the fam'ly boycott onhim, and every time I thinks of Aunt Elvira still havin' him framed upfor a comer in the Bishop class, I has to smile.
You see, having gone so far with their fairy tales, the Mallorys nevergot a chance to hedge; and, accordin' to Dyke, they was all scared stifffor fear she'd dig up the facts some day, and make a new will leavin' herrentroll to the foreign missions society.
Maybe it was because I took more or less interest in him, but perhaps itwas just because he wanted company and I happened to be handy; anyway,here the other afternoon Dyke comes poundin' up the stairs two at a time,rushes into the front office, and grabs me by the arm.
"Come on, Shorty!" says he. "Something fruity is on the schedule."
"Hope it don't taste like a lemon," says I. "What's the grand rush?"
"Aunt Elvira is coming down, and she's called for me," says Dyke,grinnin' wide. "She must suspect something; for she sent word that if Iwasn't on hand this time she'd never come again. What do you think ofthat?"
"Aunty's got a treat in store for her, eh?" says I, givin' Dyke thewink.
/> "I should gurgle!" says he. "I'm good and tired of this fake Bishopbusiness, and if I don't jolt the old lady out of that nonsense, I'm aduffer. You can help some, I guess. Come on."
Well, I didn't exactly like the idea of mixin' up with a fam'ly surpriseparty like that; but Dyke is so anxious for me to go along, and he getsme so curious to see what'll happen at the reunion, that I fin'lly grabsmy coat and hat, and out we trails.
It seems that Aunt Elvira is due at the Grand Central. Never having triedthe subway, she's come to town just as she used to thirty years ago:drivin' to Kingsbridge station, and takin' a Harlem river local down. Wefinds the whole fam'ly, includin' Mr. and Mrs. Craig Mallory, and theirtwo married daughters, waitin' outside the gates, with the gloom about'em so thick you'd almost think it was a sea turn.
From the chilly looks they shot at Dyke you could tell just how they'dforecasted the result when Aunt Elvira got him all sized up; for, withhis collar turned up and his green hat slouched, he looks as much like adivinity student as a bulldog looks like Mary's lamb. And they can almostsee them blocks of apartment houses bein' handed over to the heathen.
As for Mr. Craig Mallory, he never so much as gives his only son a secondglance, but turns his back and stands there, twistin' the ends of hisclose cropped gray mustache, and tryin' to look like he wa'n't concernedat all. Good old sport, Craig,--one of the kind that can sit behind apair of sevens and raise the opener out of his socks. Lucky for hisnerves he didn't have to wait long. Pretty soon in pulls the train, andthe folks from Yonkers and Tarrytown begin to file past.
"Most of Auntie was obscured by the luggage she carries"]
"There she is!" whispers Dyke, givin' me the nudge. "That's Aunt Elvira,with her bonnet on one ear."
It's one of the few black velvet lids of the 1869 model still incaptivity, ornamented with a bunch of indigo tinted violets, and keptfrom bein' lost off altogether by purple strings tied under the chin.Most of the rest of Aunty was obscured by the hand luggage she carries,which includes four assorted parcels done up in wrappin' paper, and abig, brass wire cage holdin' a ragged lookin' gray parrot that was tryin'to stick his bill through the bars and sample the passersby.
She's a wrinkled faced, but well colored and hearty lookin' old girl, andthe eyes that peeks out under the rim of the velvet lid is as keen andshrewd as a squirrel's. Whatever else she might be, it was plain AuntElvira wa'n't feeble minded. Behind her comes a couple of stationporters, one cartin' an old-time black valise, and the other with hisarms wrapped around a full sized featherbed in a blue and white tick.
"Gee!" says I. "Aunty carries her own scenery with her, don't she?"
"That's Bismarck in the cage," says Dyke.
"How Bizzy has changed!" says I. "But why the feather mattress?"
"She won't sleep on anything else," says he. "Watch how pleased mysisters look. They just love this--not! But she insists on having thewhole family here to meet her."
I must say for Mr. Mallory that he stood it well, a heavy swell like himgivin' the glad hand in public to a quaint old freak like that. But AuntElvira don't waste much time swappin' fam'ly greetin's.
"Where is Dyckman?" says she, settin' her chin for trouble. "Isn't hehere?"
"Oh, yes," says Mr. Mallory. "Right over there," and he points his canehandle to where Dyke and me are grouped on the side lines.
"Here, hold Bismarck!" says Aunty, jammin' the brass cage into Mr.Mallory's arm, and with that she pikes straight over to us. I nevermistrusted she'd be in any doubt as to which was which, until I sees herlook from one to the other, kind of waverin'. No wonder, though; for,from the descriptions she'd had, neither of us came up to the divinitystudent specifications. Yet it was something of a shock when she fixesthem sharp old lamps on me and says:
"Land to goodness! You?"
"Reverse!" says I. "Here's the guilty party," and I pushes Dyke to thefront.
She don't gasp, or go up in the air, or throw any kind of a fit, like Iexpected. As she looks him over careful, from the sporty hat to the widesoled shoes, I notices her eyes twinkle.
"Hum! I thought as much!" says she. "Craig always could lie easier thanhe could tell the truth. Young man, you don't look to me like a personcalled to hold orders."
"Glad of it, Aunty," says Dyke, with a grin. "I don't feel that way."
"And you don't look as if you had broken down your health studying forthe ministry, either!" she goes on.
"You don't mean to say they filled you up with that?" says Dyke."Hee-haw!"
"Huh!" says Aunty. "It's a joke, is it? At least you're not afraid totell the truth. I guess I want to have a little private talk with you.Who's this other young man?"
"This is Professor McCabe," says Dyke. "He's a friend of mine."
"Let him come along, too," says Aunty. "Perhaps he can supply what youleave out."
And, say, the old girl knew what she wanted and when she wanted it, allright! There was no bunkoin' her out of it, either. Mr. Mallory leads herout to his brougham and does his best to shoo her in with him and Mrs.Mallory and away from Dyke; but it was no go.
"I will ride up with Dyckman and his friend," says she. "And I want to goin one of those new automobile cabs I've heard so much about."
"Good! We'll get one, Aunty," says Dyke, and then he whispers in my ear,"Slip around the corner and call for Jerry Powers. Number 439. He canmake a taxi take hurdles and water jumps."
I don't know whether it was luck or not, but Jerry was on the stand withthe tin flag up, and inside of two minutes the three of us was stowedaway inside, with the bag on top, and Dyke holdin' Bismarck in his lap.
"Now my featherbed," says Aunt Elvira, and she has the porter jam it inalongside of me, which makes more or less of a full house. Then theprocession starts, our taxi in the lead, the brougham second, and themarried sisters trailin' behind in a hansom.
"My sakes! but these things do ride easy!" says Aunty, settlin' back inher corner. "Can they go any faster, Dyckman?"
"Just wait until we get straightened out on the avenue," says Dyke, andtips me the roguish glance.
"I've ridden behind some fast horses in my time," says the old lady; "soyou can't scare me. But now, Dyckman, I'd like to know exactly whatyou've been doing, and what you intend to do."
Well, Dyke starts in to unload the whole yarn, beginnin' by ownin' upthat he'd scratched the Bishop proposition long ago. And he was statin'some of his troubles at college, when I gets a backward glimpse out ofthe side window at something that makes me sit up. First off I thought itwas another snow storm with flakes bigger'n I'd ever seen before, andthen I tumbles to the situation. It ain't snow; it's feathers. In jammin'that mattress into the taxi the tick must have had a hole ripped in it,and the part that was bulgin' through the opposite window was leakin' henfoliage to beat the cars.
"Hey!" says I, buttin' in on the confession and pointin' back. "We'relosin' part of our cargo."
"Land sakes!" says Aunt Elvira, after one glance. "Stop! Stop!"
At that Dyke pounds on the front glass for the driver to shut off thejuice. But Jerry must have had Dyke out before, and maybe he mistook thesignal. Anyway, the machine gives a groan and a jerk and we beginsskimmin' along the asphalt at double speed. That don't check the moltin'process any, and Dyke was gettin' real excited, when we hears a chucklefrom Aunt Elvira.
The old girl has got her eyes trained through the back window. Thanks toour speed and the stiff wind that's blowin' down the avenue, the Mallorybrougham, with the horses on the jump to keep up with us, is gettin' thefull benefit of the feather storm. The dark green uniforms of the Mallorycoachman and footman was being plastered thick, and they was bothspittin' out feathers as fast as they could, and the Mallorys was wipin''em out of their eyes and ears, and the crowds on the sidewalk has caughton and is enjoyin' the performance, and a mounted cop was starin' at uskind of puzzled, as if he was tryin' to decide whether or not we wasbreakin' an ordinance.
"Look at Craig! Look at Mabel Ann!" snickers Aunt Elvira. "
Tell your manto go faster, Dyckman. Push out more feathers!"
"More feathers it is," says I, shovin' another fold of the bed throughthe window. Even Bismarck gets excited and starts squawkin'.
Talk about your joy rides! I'll bet that's the only one of the kind everpulled off on Fifth-ave. And it near tickles the old girl to death. Whatwas a featherbed to her, when she had her sportin' blood up and wasgettin' a hunch in on Brother Craig and his wife?
We goes four blocks before we shakes out the last of our ammunition, andby that time the Mallory brougham looks like a poultry wagon after a busyday at the market, while Aunt Elvira has cut loose with the mirth so hardthat the velvet bonnet is hangin' under her chin, and Bismarck is out ofbreath. It's a wonder we wa'n't pinched for breakin' the speed laws; butthe traffic cops is so busy watchin' the feather blizzard that theyforgets to hold us up. Dyke wants to know if I'll come in for a cup oftea, or ride back with Jerry.
"Thanks, but I'll walk back," says I, as we pulls up at the house. "GuessI can find the trail easy enough, eh?"
I s'posed I'd get a report of the reunion from him next day; but itwa'n't until this mornin' that he shows up here and drags me down to thecurb to look at his new sixty-horse-power macadam burner.
"Birthday present from Aunty," says he. "Say, she's all to the good,Shorty. She got over that Bishop idea months ago, all by herself. Andwhat do you think? She says I'm to have a thousand a month, just to enjoymyself on. Whe-e-e! Can I do it?"
"Do it, son," says I. "If you can't, I don't know who can."