by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER IV
A FRAME-UP FOR STUBBY
I expect I shouldn't have been so finicky. I ain't as a rule. My usualplay is to press the button and take whoever is sent in from the generaloffice. But the last young lady typist they'd wished on me must haveeased in on the job with a diploma from some hair-dressin'establishment. She got real haughty when I pointed out that we was usingonly one "l" in Albany now, but nothing I could say would keep her fromwriting Bridgeport as two words.
And such a careless way she had of parking her gum on the corner of mydesk and forgettin' to retrieve it. So with four or five more folios todo on a report I was makin' to the Ordnance Department, I puts it up toMr. Piddie personally to pick the best he can spare.
"Course," says I, "I don't expect to get Old Hickory's star performer,but I thought you might have one of the old guard left; one that didn'tlearn her spellin' by the touch method, at least."
Piddie sighs. Since so many of his key-pounders has gone to polishin'shell noses, or sailed to do canteen work, he's been having a poor timekeeping up his office force. "Do you know, Torchy," says he, "I haven'tone left that I can guarantee; but suppose you try Miss Casey, who hasjust joined."
She wouldn't have been my choice if I'd been doin' the pickin'. One ofthese tall, limber young females, Miss Casey is, about as thick as adrink of water, but strong on hair and eyes. She glides in willowy,drapes herself on a chair, pats her home-grown ear-muffs into shape, andunfolds her note book business-like. And inside of two minutes she'sdoing the Pitman stuff in jazz time, with no call for repeats exceptwhen I'd shoot a string of figures at her. I was handin' myself thecomfortin' thought, too, that I'd drawn a prize.
We breezes along on the report until near lunch time with never a hitchuntil I gets to this paragraph where I mentions Camp Mills, and the nextthing I know she has stopped short and is snifflin' through her nose.
"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at her. "Have I been feedin' it at you toospeedy?"
"N--no," says she, "bub--but that's where Stub is--Camp Mills--and itgot to me sudden."
"Oh!" says I. "And Stub is a brother or something?"
"He--he--Well, there!" says she, holdin' out her left hand anddisplayin' a turquoise set with chip diamonds.
"Sorry," says I, "but I couldn't tell from the service pin, youunderstand, when some wears 'em for second cousins. And anyway, the nameof the camp had to----"
"'Sall right," snuffles Miss Casey. "I had no call spillin' the weepsdurin' business hours. I wouldn't of either, only I had another sessionwith his old lady this mornin' and she sort of got me stirred up."
"Mother taking it hard, is she?" I asks.
"You've said sumpin," admits Miss Casey, unbuttonin' a locket vanitycase and repairin' the damage done to her facial frescoin' with a fewgraceful jabs. "Not but what I ain't strong for Stub Mears myself. He'sall right, Stub is, even if he never could qualify in a beautycompetition with Jack Pickford or Mr. Doug. Fairbanks. He's good comp'nyand all that, and now he's in the army I expect he'll ditch thatambition of his to be the champion heavy-weight pool player of the WestSide.
"But to hear Mrs. Mears talk you'd think he was one of the props of theuniverse, and that when the new draft got Stub it was a case whereCongress ought to stop and draw a long breath. Uh-huh! She's 100 percent. mother, Mrs. Mears is, and it looks like some of it was catchin'for me to get leaky-eyed just at mention of the camp he's in. Oh, lady,lady! Excuse it, please, sir."
Which I does cheerful enough. And just to prove I ain't any slavedriver I sort of eggs Miss Casey on, from then until the noon hour, tochat away about this war romance of hers. Seems Mr. Mears could havebeen in Class B, on account of his widowed mother and him being aplumber's helper when he had time to spare from his pool practicin'.Livin' in the same block, they'd been acquainted for quite some time,too.
No, it hadn't been anything serious first off. She'd gone with him tothe annual ball of Union 26 for two years in succession and to such likeimportant social events. But there'd been other fellers. Two or three.And one had a perfectly swell job as manager of a United Cigar branch.Stub had been a great one for stickin' around, though, and when heshowed up in his uniform--well, that clinched things.
"It wasn't so much the khaki stuff I fell for," confides Miss Casey,gazin' sentimental at a ham sandwich she's just unwrapped, "as it wasthe i-dear back of it. It's in the blood, you might say, for I had anuncle in the Spanish-American and a grandfather in the Civil War. Sowhen Mr. Mears tells me how, when it comes time for him to go over thetop, the one he'll be thinkin' most of will be me--Say, that got to mestrong. 'You win, Stubby,' says I. 'Flash the ring.'
"That's how it was staged, all in one scene. And later when that JakeHorwitz from the United shop comes around sportin' his instalmentLiberty bond button, but backin' his fallen arches to keep him exempt, Igives him the cold eye. 'Nix on the coo business, Mister Horwitz,' saysI, 'for when I hold out my ear for that it's got to come from a reg'larman. Get me?' Which is a good deal the same I hands the others.
"But say, between you and I, it's mighty lonesome work. You see, I'dfigured how Stub would be blowin' in from camp every now and then, andwe'd be doin' the Sunday afternoon parade up and down the block, withall the girls stretchin' their necks after us. You know? Well, he's beenat the blessed camp near three months now and not once since that firstflyin' trip has he showed up here.
"Which is why I've been droppin' in on his old lady so often, tryin' todope why he shouldn't be let off, same as the others. Mrs. Mears, she'sall primed with the notion that her Edgar has been makin' himself souseful down there that the colonel would get all balled up in his workif he didn't keep Stub right on the job. 'See,' says she, wavin' apicture post card at me, 'he's been appointed on the K. P. squad again.'Honest, she thinks he's something like a Knights of Pythias and goesmarchin' around important with a plume in his hat and a gold sword.Mothers are easy, ain't they? You can bet though, that Stub don't try tobuffalo little old me with anything like that. What he writes me, whichain't much, is mostly that his top sergeant's a grouch or that they'vebeen quarantined on account of influenza. So I sends him back the bestadvice I've got in stock, askin' him why he don't buck up on his drill,keep his equipment clean, and shift that potato peelin' work to some ofthe new squads.
"Course, I don't spill any of this to Mrs. Mears. Poor soul! She's gottroubles enough, right in her joints. Rheumatism. Uh-huh. Most of thetime she has to get around in a wheel chair. Ain't that fierce? And shewas mighty nervy about sendin' Stubby off. Wouldn't let him say a wordabout exemption. No, sir! 'Never mind me, Edgar,' says she. 'You kill alot of Huns. I'll get along somehow.' That's talkin', ain't it? And herlivin' with a sister-in-law that has a disposition like a green parrot!
"So I can't find much fault with her when she sort of overdoes the fondmother act. Seems to me they might let him off now and then, even if hedoes miss a few bugle calls, or forgets some of the rules andregulations. And this bug of hers about wonderin' when and how what he'sdoin' for his country is goin' to be reco'nized proper--Well, I don'tdebate that with her at all. For one thing I don't get just exactly whatshe wants; whether it's for the President to write her a special letterof thanks, or for Mr. Baker to make Stubby a captain or something rightoff. Anyway, she don't feel that Edgar's bein' treated right. He ain'teven had his name in the papers and only a few of the neighbors seem toknow he's a hero. Yep, it's foolish of her, I expect, but I let herunload it all on me without dodgin'. I've even promised to see what canbe done about it. I--I'd been thinkin', sir, about askin' you."
"Eh?" says I, "Me? Oh, I couldn't think of a thing."
"But if I could, sir," goes on Miss Casey, "would--would you help out alittle? She's an old lady, you know, and all crippled up, and Stubbyhe's all she's got left and----"
"Why, sure," I breaks in. "I'd do what I could."
I throws it off casual as I'm grabbin' my hat on my way out to lunch.And I supposed that would be all there'd be to it. But I hadn't gotmore'n half a
line on Miss Casey. She's no easy quitter, that younglady. Having let me in on her little affair, she seems to think it's nomore'n right I should be kept posted. A day or so later she lugs in apicture of Private Mears, one of the muddy printed post-card effectssuch as these roadside tripod artists take of the buddy boys around thecamps.
"That's him," says she. "Looks kind of swell in the uniform, don't he?"
It was a fact. Stubby not only looks swell--but swelling. And it's luckythem army buttons are sewed on tight or else a good snappy salute wouldwreck him from the chin down. He's a sturdy, bulgy party, 'speciallyabout the leggins.
"That's right, too," says Miss Casey. "Know what I tell him? If he canfight like he can eat, good-night Kaiser Bill. But at that they've paredfifteen pounds off him since he's been in the service."
"It's a great life," says I.
"Maybe," sighs Miss Casey, "but I wisht they'd let me have a close-up ofhim before they risk loadin' him on a transport. That's all I gotagainst the Government. You ain't thought of any way it might be worked,have you?"
I had to admit that I hadn't, not addin' I didn't expect to. And I musthave been stallin' along that line for a week or more until the forenoonwhen Vee blows in unexpected durin' a shoppin' trip and announces that Imay take her out to luncheon.
"Fine!" says I. "Just as soon as I give two more letters to Miss Casey."
In the middle of the second one though, there's a call for me to go intothe private office, and when I comes back from a ten-minute interviewwith Old Hickory I finds Vee and Miss Casey chattin' away like oldfriends. Vee is being told all about Stubby and the hard-boiled eggs hehas for company officers.
"Three months without a furlough!" says Vee. "Isn't that a shame,Torchy? What is the number of his regiment?"
Miss Casey reels it off, addin' the company and division.
"Really!" says Vee. "Why, that's the company Captain Woodhouse commands.You remember him, Torchy?"
"Oh, yes! Woodie," says I. "I'd most forgotten him."
"I am going to call him up on the long distance right now," says Vee.
And in spite of all my lay-off signals she does it. Gets the captain,too. Yes, Woodie knows the case and he regrets to report that PrivateMears's record isn't a good one; three times in the guardhouse andanother week of K. P. coming to him. Under these circumstances he don'tquite see how----
"Oh, come, captain!" puts in Vee coaxin'. "Don't be disagreeable. He'sengaged, you know. Such a nice girl. And then there is his poor oldmother who has seen him only once since he was drafted. Please, Woodie!"
I expect it was the "Woodie" that worked the trick. You see, thisWoodhouse party used to think he was in the runnin' with Vee himself,way back when Auntie was doin' her best to discourage my littlecampaign, and although he quit and picked another several years ago Idon't suppose he minds bein' called Woodie by Vee, even now. Anyway,after consultin' one of his lieutenants he gives her the word that ifPrivate Mears don't pull any more cut-up stuff between now and a weekfrom Wednesday he'll probably have forty-eight hours comin' to him.
And for a minute there I thought both Vee and I were let in for a fondclinch act with Miss Casey. As it is she takes it out in pattin' Vee'shand and callin' her Dearie.
"A week Wednesday, eh?" says Miss Casey. "Say, ain't that grand! Andbelieve muh, I mean to work up some little party for Stubby. It's duehim, and the old lady."
"Of course it is," agrees Vee. "And Torchy, you must do all you can tohelp."
"Very well, major," says I, salutin'.
And from then on I reports to Vee. It's only the next night that I givesher the first bulletin from the front. "What do you know?" says I. "MissCasey has a hunch that she might organize a block party for the bignight. I don't know whether she can swing it or not, but that's herscheme."
"But what on earth is a block party, Torchy?" Vee demands.
"Why," I explains, "it's a small town stunt that's being used in thecity these days. Very popular, too. They get all the people in the blockto chip in for a celebration--decorations, music, ice cream, allthat--and generally they raise a block service flag. It takes someorganizin', though."
"How perfectly splendid!" says Vee. "And that is just where you can beuseful."
So that's how I come to spend that next evenin' trottin' up and downthis block in the sixties between Ninth and Amsterdam. I must say itdidn't look specially promisin' as a place to work up community spiritand that sort of thing. Just a dingy row of old style dumb-bell flats,most of 'em with "Room to Rent" signs hung out and little basement shopstucked in here and there. Maybe you know the kind--the asphalt alwayslittered with paper, garbage cans left out, and swarms of kids playin'tip-cat or dashin' about on roller skates. Cheap and messy. And to judgeby the names on the letter boxes you'd say the tenants had been shippedin from every country on the map. Anyway, our noble allies was wellrepresented--with the French and Italians in the lead and the rest madeup of Irish, Jews, Poles and I don't know what else. Everything butstraight Americans.
Yet when you come to count up the service flags in the front windows youhad to admit that Miss Casey's block must have a good many reg'larcitizens in it at that. There was more blue stars in evidence than you'dfind on any three brownstone front blocks down on Madison or up in theSeventies. One flag had four, and none of 'em stood for butlers orchauffeurs. Course, some was only faded cotton, a few nothing butcolored paper, but every star stood for a soldier, and I'll bet therewasn't a bomb-proofer in the lot.
Whether you could get these people together on any kind of a celebrationor not was another question. We begins with Mike's place, on the corner.
"Sure!" says Mike. "Let's have a party. I'll ante twenty-five. And, say,I got a cousin in the Knights of Columbus who'll give you some tips onhow to manage the thing."
The little old Frenchy in the Parisian hand laundry gave us a boost,too. Even J. Streblitz, high-class tailoring for ladies and gents,chipped in a ten and told us about his boy Herman, who'd been made acorporal and was at Chateau Thierry. Inside of three hours we'd made asketchy canvas of the whole block, got half a dozen of the men to go onthe committee, had over $100 subscribed, and the thing was under way.
"I just knew you could do it," says Vee, when I tells her about thestart that's been made.
"Me!" says I. "Why it was mostly Miss Casey. About all I did was tagalong and watch her work up the enthusiasm. She's some breeze, she is.When I left her she was plannin' on two bands and free ice cream foreveryone who came."
As a matter of fact, that's about all I had to do with it, after thefirst push. Miss Casey must have had a busy week, but she don't lay downonce on her reg'lar work nor beg for any time off. All she asks is ifVee and me couldn't be persuaded to be on hand Wednesday night as guestsof honor.
"We wouldn't miss it for anything," says I.
Well, we didn't. I'd heard more or less about these block parties, butI'd never been to one. Course, I wasn't sure just how Vee would take itgettin' mixed up in a mob like that, but I was bankin' on her being agood sport. Besides, she was wild to go and see how Miss Casey had madeout.
And say, when we swings in off Ninth Avenue and I gets my first glimpseof what had been done to that scrubby, messy lookin' block, it got agasp out of me. First off there was strings of Japanese lanterns withelectric lights in 'em stretched across the street from the front ofevery flat buildin' to the one opposite. Also every doorway and windowwas draped and decorated with bunting. Then there was all kinds offlags, from little ten centers to big twenty footers swung across thestreet. There was a whackin' big Irish flag loaned by the A. O. H.; twoItalian flags almost as big; I don't know how many French tri-colors andsome I couldn't place; Czecho-Slovaks maybe. And besides the lanternsand extra arc-lights there was red fire burnin' liberal. Then at eitherend of the block was a truck backed up with a band in it and they wastearin' away at all kinds of tunes from the "Marseillaise" to"K-k-k-katie," while bumpin' and bobbin' about on the asphalt werehundreds of couples doing jazz steps a
nd gettin' pelted with confetti.
"Why, it's almost like the Mardi Gras!" says Vee.
"Looks festive, all right," says I. "And I should say Miss Casey has putover the real thing. I wonder if we can find her in this mob."
Seemed like a hopeless search, but finally, down in the middle of theblock, I spots an old lady in a wheel chair, and I has a hunch it mightbe Mrs. Mears. Sure enough, it is. Not much to look at, she ain't; sortof humped over, with a shawl 'round her shoulders. But say, when you gota glimpse of the way her old eyes was lighted up, and saw the smileflickerin' around her lips, you knew that nobody in that whole crowd wasany happier than she was just at that minute.
"Oh, yes," says she. "Minnie Casey is looking for you two young folks.She's dancing with Edgar now, but they'll be back soon. Haven't seen myson Edgar, have you? Well, you must. He--he's a soldier, you know."
"We should be delighted," says Vee. And then she whispers to me: "Hasn'tshe a nice face, though?"
We hadn't waited long before I sees a tall, willowy young thing wearin'one of them zippy French tams come bearin' down on us wavin' energeticand towin' along a red-faced young doughboy who looks like he'd beenstuffed into his uniform by a sausage machine. It's Minnie and Stub.
"Hello, folks!" she sings out. "Say, I was just wonderin' if you wasgoin' to renig on me. Fine work! An' I want you to meet one of the mostprominent privates in the division, Mr. Mears. Come on, Stubby, pullthat overseas salute of yours. Ain't he a bear-cat, though? And howabout the show? Ain't it some party?"
"Why, it's simply wonderful," says Vee. "I had no idea, Miss Casey, thatyou were planning anything like this."
"I didn't," says Minnie. "Only after we got started it kept gettin'bigger and bigger until there wa'n't a soul on the block but what camein on it. Know what one of the decorators told me? He says there ain't ablock on the West Side has had anything up to this, from Houston Streetup to the Harlem. That's goin' some, ain't it? You got here just in timefor the big doin's, too. It's comin' off right now. See who's standin'up in the truck over there? That's one of the Paulist Fathers, who'sgoin' to make the speech and bless the flag. There it comes, out of thatthird-story window. Wow! Hear 'em cheer."
And as the red-bordered banner with the white field is pulled out wherethe searchlight strikes it we can make out the figures formed by bluestars.
"What!" says I. "Not 217 from this one block?"
"Uh-huh!" says Minnie. "And every one of 'em a Fritzie chaser. 'Most awhole company. But ther'd been one less if it hadn't been for Stubby,and everybody knows there's luck in odd numbers. That's why we're sochesty about him. Eh, Mrs. Mears?"
Yes, it was some lively affair. After the speech Mme. Toscarelli, drapedin red, white and blue, sang the Star-Spangled Banner in spite of strongopposition from one of the bands that got the wrong cue and played"Indianola" all through the piece. And a fat boy rolled out of asecond-story window in the Princess flats, but caromed off on an awnin'and wasn't hurt. Also a few young hicks started some rough stuff whenthe ice-cream freezers were opened, but a squad of Junior Naval Leagueboys soon put a crimp in that. And when we had to leave, along aboutnine-thirty, it was as gay a scene as was ever staged on any West Sideblock, bar none. I remarked something of the sort to Mrs. Mears.
"Yes," says she, her eyes sort of dimmin' up. "And to think that allthis should be done for my Edgar!"
At which Minnie Casey tips us the private wink. "Why not, I'd like toknow?" says she. "Just look who he is."
"Yes, of course, dear," says Mrs. Mears, smilin' satisfied.
"Can you beat that for the genuine mother stuff?" whispers Minnie,givin' us a partin' grin.
"I do hope," says Vee, as we settles ourselves in a Long Island trainfor the ride home, "that Miss Casey gets her Edgar back safe and sound."
"If she don't," says I, "she's liable to go over and tear what's left ofGermany off the map. Anyway, they'd better not get her started."