by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER XI
AS LUCY LEE PASSED BY
Someone put on that Tales of Hoffman record, please, with a soft needle.Thanks. Now if you'll turn out all but one bulb in the old rose-shadedelectrolier and pass the chocolate marshmallows maybe I'll try to sketchout for you this Lucy Lee-Peyton Pratt version of the sweetest storyever told.
We got Lucy Lee on the bounce, as it were. She really hadn't come allthe way up from Atlanta to visit Vee even if they were oldboardin'-school chums. No, she was on her way to a house party up inLenox and was fillin' in the time before that happened by making a dutystay with an old maid aunt who lived on Madison Avenue. But when itdevelops that Auntie is taking the buttermilk cure for dyspepsia, hasgrown too deaf to enjoy the theater, and is bugs over manipulatin' theOuija board, Lucy Lee gets out her address book and begins callin' upold friends.
I don't know how far down Vee was on the list but she seems to be thefirst one to fall easy. When she hears how bored Lucy Lee is on MadisonAvenue she insists on her coming right out with us. So I get my ordersto round up Lucy Lee when I'm through at the office and tow her outhome. Hence this openin' scene in the taxi where I finds myself beingsized up coy and curious.
There's only one way of describin' Lucy Lee. She's a sweet young thing.Nothing big or bouncy about her. No. One of these half-portions. Butcute and kittenish from the tip of her double A pumps to the floppy hatbrim which only half hides a dangerous pair of eyes.
"So good of you, Mr. Ballard," says she, shootin' over a shy look, "totake all this trouble for poor little me."
"It's a gift," says I. "Comes natural. What about baggage?"
"I've sent a few things by express," says she. "Thank you so much,Mr.--er--Do you know, I've heard such a lot about you from dear Vee thatI simply must call you Torchy."
"If it's a case of must," says I, "then go to it."
I'll admit it was a bit sudden, but Lucy Lee is such a chummy youngparty, and so easy to get acquainted with, that it don't seem odd afterthe first few times. First off she wants to know all about the baby, andwhen I've shown her the latest snapshot, and quoted a couple of hisbright remarks, translated free, she announces right off that he must bewonderful.
"Simp-ly wonderful!" is Lucy Lee's way of puttin' it, as she gazesadmirin' at me.
Course, I don't deny it. Then she wants to know how long we've beenliving out on Long Island, and what the house is like, and about my workwith the Corrugated Trust, and as I give her the details she listenswith them big eyes gettin' wider and wider.
"Simp-ly wonderful!" says Lucy Lee.
And somehow, just by workin' that system, she begins to register. Firstoff I was only kind of amused by it. But before we'd driven a dozenblocks I was being rapidly convinced that here, at last, was somebodywho really understood. You know how it is. You feel that you're a greatstrong noble man, so wise in the head that there's no use tryin' toconceal it from eyes like that; and yet so kind and generous that youdon't mind talking to any simple young person who might be helped by it.
Oh, yes. A half hour with Lucy Lee and you're apt to need an elastic hatband. You never knew you could reel off such entertainin' chat. Why,without half tryin' I could start that ripply laugh of hers going andget the dimples playin' tag with her blushes. By the time we gets home Ifeels like a reg'lar guy.
"Cute little thing, ain't she?" I remarks to Vee durin' the forty minutewait while Lucy Lee dresses for dinner.
"Oh, yes," says Vee, with a knowin' smile. "That is her specialty, Ibelieve. She's a dear though, even if she doesn't mean quite all of it."
"Ah, why wake me up!" says I, grinnin'.
It was next mornin' though that I got my big jolt, when an express truckbacks up with about a ton of baggage. There was only two wardrobetrunks, a hat trunk, and a steamer trunk, and the men unloads 'em all.
"Hal-lup!" says I, when they staggers in with the last one. "Who'smovin' in?"
Seems it's the few little things that Lucy Lee needs for the week-end."I've told her to send for her maid," says Vee. "It was stupid of me notto think of that before, knowing Lucy Lee."
And later, when I've been called in to help undo the straps, I gets aglimpse of the exhibit. Morning and afternoon frocks in one, eveninggowns in another, the steamer trunk full of shoes, besides all the hats.
"Huh!" says I, on the side to Vee. "Carries all her own scenery, don'tshe? Say, there's enough to outfit a Ziegfeld song revue."
What got the biggest gasp out of me though, was when Lucy Lee unpacksher collection of framed photos and ranges 'em on the mantel anddressin'-table. More'n a dozen, all men.
"You don't mean, Lucy Lee," says Vee, "that these are all--er--on theactive list?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," says Lucy Lee, springin' the babystare. "They are simply some of my men friends. For instance, this isdear old Major Knight, who's chairman of some board or other that Daddyis a director on. He is so jolly and is always saying--Well, never mindthat. This one is Victor Norris, who tried so hard to get into aviationand was just about to fly when the war had to go and end it. He's aperfectly heavenly dancer. Then there's poor Arthur Kirby, only asecretary to some senator, but such a nice boy. And the one in the navaluniform is Dick--er--Well, I met him at a dinner in Washington justbefore he got his discharge and he told me so many thrilling thingsabout chasing submarines in the North Sea or--or the Mediterranean orsomewhere. Hasn't he nice eyes, though? And this next one----"
Well, I forget the rest for about then I got busy wonderin' how shecould keep the run of 'em all without the aid of a card index. But shecould. To Lucy Lee life must seem like a parade, she being the givenpoint. Which was where I begun to agree with Vee that there ought to bea fourth plate put on the table, for over Sunday, at least.
"But who'll I get?" I asks.
"Silly!" says Vee. "A man, of course. Any man."
"All right," says I. "I'll try to collect somebody, even if I have todraft Piddie."
Saturday afternoon is apt to be more or less of a busy time at theCorrugated though, so it's near noon before I remembers my promise andbegins to look around panicky. No, Mr. Piddie couldn't oblige. He'dplanned to take the fam'ly to the Bronx. Sudders, our assistant auditor,was booked for an all day golf orgie. I'd almost decided to kidnapVincent, our fair-haired office boy with the parlor manners, when Ihappened to pass through the bond room and gets a glimpse of this PeytonPratt person lingerin' at his desk. He's diggin' a time-table out of asuitcase.
"Whither away, Peyton?" says I.
"Oh!" says he, sighin' discontented. "I suppose I must run up and spendthe day with my married sister in New Haven."
"Why act so tickled over it?" says I.
"But I'm not, really," says Peyton. "It isn't that I am not fond ofEthel, and all that sort of thing. Walter--that's her husband--is a goodsort, too, and the children are nice enough. But it's quite a trip totake for such a short visit--and rather expensive, you know. I've justbeen figuring up."
So he had. There on an office pad he's jotted down every item, includingthe cost of a ten-word day message and the price of a box of candy forthe youngsters. He hadn't sent the wire yet, or bought the candy.
"Got your dinner coat in there?" I asks, noddin' to the suitcase.
He says he has.
"Then listen," says I. "Cross New Haven off the map for this time andlemme put you next to a week-end that won't set you back a nickel.Haven't seen my place out on Long Island yet, have you; or met the newheir to the house of Torchy?"
"Why--why, no, I haven't," hesitates Peyton.
"High time, then," says I. "It'll all be on me, even to lettin' youpunch in on my trip ticket. Eh? What say?"
Havin' known Peyton Pratt for some years I could pretty near call theturn. That free round trip ought to be big casino for him. And it was.Course, he protests polite how he couldn't allow me to put up for hisfare, and adds that he's heard so much about my charmin' little fam'lythat he can't really afford to miss such a chance.
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p; "Sure you can't!" says I, smotherin' a grin.
Not that Peyton is one of your common cheap skates. That ain't the ideaat all. He's a buddin' financier, Peyton is; one of theselittle-red-notebook heroes, who wear John D. mottoes pasted in theirhats and can tell you just how Carnegie or Armour or Shonts or any ofthem sainted souls laid up their first ten thousand.
He's got all that thrift dope down fine, Peyton has. Why, he don't licka postage stamp of his own but it gets entered in the little oldexpense account along with the extra doughnut he plunged on at thedairy lunch. He knows that's the way to win out for he's read it inmagazine articles and I'll bet every time he passes the Sub-Treasury helifts his lid reverent.
I expect it's something Peyton was born to, for his old man was a bankcashier and his two older brothers already have their names up on windowgrills, he tells me, while an uncle of his is vice-president of aninsurance company. So it's no wonder Peyton is a reg'lar coupon hound.His idea of light readin' is to sit down with "Talks to Investors" onone knee and the market report on the other. Give him a forenoon off andhe'd spend it down at the Clearing House watchin' 'em strike the dailybalance. Uh-huh. The only way he can write U. S. is in a monogram--likethis--$$
Not such a bad-lookin' chap though; tall, slim and dark, with a longstraight nose and a well-developed chin. Course he's got kind of abilious indoor complexion, and them thick glasses don't add to hisbeauty. You can imagine too, that his temperament ain't exactlyfrivolous. Hardly! Yet he thinks he's a great jollier when he wants tobe. Also he likes to have me kid him about bein' such a finicky dresser,for while he never splurges on anything sporty, he's always neat andwell dressed.
"Who's the little queen that all this is done for?" I asks him once.
"When I have picked her out I'll let you know, Torchy," says he,blinkin' foxy.
Later on though he tells me all about it confidential. He admits likin'well enough to run around with nice girls when it can be done withoutdanger of being worked for orchestra seats or taxi fares. But there wasno sense gettin' in deep with any particular one until a feller was sureof a five figure income, at least.
"Huh!" says I. "Then you got time enough to train one up from thecradle."
"Oh, I don't know," says he. "Anyway, I shall wait until I find one withtastes as simple as my own."
"You may," says I, "and then again--Well, I've seen wiser guys than yourushed off their feet by fluffy young parties whose whole stock in tradewas a pair of misbehavin' eyes."
"Pooh!" says Peyton. "I've been exposed to that sort of thing as oftenas anyone. I think I'm immune."
"Maybe you are," I has to admit.
So as I tows Peyton out to the house that afternoon I kind of hands itto myself that I've filled Vee's order. And there standing on the frontveranda admirin' the lilacs is Lucy Lee in one of her plain littlefrocks--a pink and white check--lookin' as fresh and dainty andinexpensive as a prize exhibit from an orphan asylum.
I whispers to Vee on the side: "Well, you see I got him. Peyton'ssomeone she can practice on, too, and no harm done. He's casehardened."
"Really," says Vee, lookin' him over.
"Admits it himself," says I.
"Oh, well, then!" says Vee, with one of her quizzin' smiles.
And at first it looked like Peyton was about to qualify as an all-'roundexempt. He barely seemed to see Lucy Lee. While she was unreelin' thesprightly chatter he was inspectin' the baby, or talkin' with Vee, oraskin' fool questions about the garden. Hardly takes a second glance atLucy Lee. I expect he had her sized up as about sixteen. He could easymake that mistake.
Maybe that's what started her in on this brisk offensive at dinner.Nothing high-school girly about Lucy Lee when she floats down the stairsat 7:15. It's a grown-up evenin' gown she's wearin' this time. No doubtthen whether or not she'd had her comin' out. The only question waswhere she was going to stop comin' out. Not that it wasn't simpleenough, but it sure was skimpy above the belt.
After his first gasp you could see Peyton sittin' up and takin' notice.Couldn't very well help it, either, for Lucy Lee sure had the net out. Ihadn't noticed them big innocent eyes of hers brought into full playbefore but now she cuts loose regardless. And Peyton, he is right inrange. She's givin' him samples of them Oh-you-great-big-wonderful manlooks. You know. And inside of ten minutes Peyton don't know whetherhe's bein' passed the peas or is being elected second vice-president ofsomething.
And I'd always classed Peyton as a cold storage proposition! You shouldsee the way he thaws out, though. Why, he tells funny stories, throwsoff repartee, and spreads himself generally. That long sallow face ofhis got tinted up like he'd had a beauty parlor treatment, and hisserious eyes got to sparklin' behind the thick panes.
As for Vee and me, we swapped an amused glance now and then and enjoyedthe performance. After the coffee, when Lucy Lee has led him out on theeast terrace to see the full moon come up, they just naturally campeddown in a swing seat and opened up the confidential chat. By the deeprumble we could tell that Peyton was carryin' the big end of theconversation.
"I know," says I. "Lucy Lee is makin' him tell how he's goin' to haveWall Street eatin' out of his hand some day, and every once in a whileshe's remarkin': 'Why, Mr. Pratt! I think you're wonderful; simp-lywonderful!'"
"But I thought you said," puts in Vee, "that he was--er--case hardened?"
"Oh, he's just playin' the game," says I. "Maybe it's gone to his head alittle tonight, but when it comes time to duck--You'll see."
One of my pet notions has always been that breakfast time is the trueacid test for this romance stuff. Specially for girls. But next morningLucy Lee shows up in another little gingham effect, lookin' as fresh andsmilin' as a bed of tulips. And the affair continues right on fromthere. It lasts all day and all that evenin' except when Lucy Lee wasmakin' another quick change, which she does about four times accordin'to my count. And each costume is complete--dress, hat, shoes, stockingsall matchin'. The only restless motions Peyton makes, too, are durin'these brief waits.
"Entertainin' young party, eh?" I suggests to him as Lucy Lee does oneof her sudden flits.
"A most interesting and charming girl," says Peyton.
"Some class, too. What?" I adds.
"If you mean that she dresses in excellent taste, I agree with you,"says he. "Such absolute simplicity, and yet----" Peyton spreads out hishands eloquent. "Why can't all girls do that?" he asks. "It wouldbe--er--such a saving. I've no doubt she makes them all herself."
"If she does," says I, "she must have put in a busy winter."
"Oh, I don't know," says Peyton. "They're all such simple little things.And then, you know--or possibly you don't--that Lucy--er--I mean MissVaughn, is a surprisingly capable young woman. Really. There's so muchmore to her than appears on the surface."
"Tut, tut, Peyton!" says I. "Ain't you gettin' in kind of deep?"
"Don't be absurd, Torchy," says he. "Just because I show a littlenatural interest in a charming young woman it doesn't follow that----"
"Look!" says I. "Someone's givin' you the come-on signal."
Course, it's Lucy Lee. She's changed to an afternoon costume, sort of anold blue effect with not a frill or a ruffle in sight but witheverything toned in, from the spider-webby hat to the suede slippers.And all she has to do to bring Peyton alongside is to tilt her chininvitin'.
We only caught glimpses of 'em the whole afternoon. And that Sundayevenin' the porch swing worked overtime again. I know both Vee and medid a lot of yawnin' before they finally drifts in. I'd never seenPeyton quite so chirky. He even goes so far as to smoke a cigarette. Andnext mornin', as he leaves reluctant with me to catch the 8:03 express,he stops me at the gate to give me the hearty grip.
"I say, old man," says he husky, "I--I never can tell you how grateful Iam for--for what you've done."
"Then let's forget it," says I.
"Forget!" says he, smilin' mushy. "Never!"
At lunch time he asks me which of the Fifth Avenue photographers I thinki
s the best.
"Eh?" says I, grinnin'. "Thinkin' of havin' yourself mugged and sendin'the result to somebody in a silver frame?"
"Well," says he draggy, "I--I've been meaning to have some picturestaken for several years, and now----"
"Got you," says I. "But if you want something real swell let me tow youto a place I know of on Fifty-fifth."
Honest, I wasn't thinking about the Maison Noir at the time or that itwas just next door. In fact, it was Peyton himself who stops in front ofthe show window and grabs me by the arm.
"I say!" says he, pointin' in at the exhibit. "See--see there."
He's pointin' to a display of checked gingham frocks, blue and white andpink and white, with hats to match.
"Yes," says I, "do look sort of familiar, don't they?"
"Why," he goes on, "they're almost exactly like those of--of Lucy's; thesame simple lines, the same material and everything."
"Classy stuff," says I. "Come along, though. The picture place is nextdoor, upstairs."
Peyton still stands there gawpin'. "Such a coincidence," he's murmurin'."I wonder, Torchy, if one could find out about how much they ask forsuch things in a place like this."
"Easiest thing in the world," says I. "Just blow in and get 'em to giveyou quotations."
"Oh, but I wouldn't dare do that," says he. "It would seem so--so----"
"Not at all," says I. "As it happens, this joint is one where Vee doesmore or less shoppin', when she's feelin' flush, and I've often beenwith her. If you're curious we'll breeze in and get their prices."
Peyton was right there with the curiosity, too. And the lady vamp withthe long string of beads danglin' from her neck didn't seem to think itodd for us to be interested in checked ginghams.
"Ah, yes-s-s!" says she, throwin' open the back doors of the showwindow. "Zey are great bargains, those. Marked down but las' week. Theeswan--m-m-m-m--only $68; but wiz ze hat also, $93."
And the gasp that gets out of Peyton sounds like openin' an airbrake.
"Nine-ty three dollars!" says he. "For a simple little thing like that?Why, that seems to be rather exorbitant!"
"Mais non!" says the lady vamp, shruggin' her shoulders. "They are whatyou call simple, yes. But they are chic, too. One considers that. Las'week come a young lady from Atlanta who in one hour takes two dozen atonce, and more next day. You see!"
Peyton was beginning to see. But he wanted to be dead sure. "FromAtlanta?" says he. "Not--not a--a Miss Vaughn?"
"Mais oui!" says Madame, clappin' her hands enthusiastic. "The ver' one.You know her? Yes?"
"I--I thought I did," says Peyton, sort of weak, as he starts for thedoor.
He calls off the picture proposition. Says he ain't quite in the mood.And all that day he seems to have something on his mind that he couldn'tunload. Three or four times he seems to be just on the point of statin'it to me but never can quite get a start. And next day he's a good dealthe same. He was like that when I left the office about 4 p.m. to catchan early train. I could about guess what was troublin' him.
So I wasn't much surprised, just before dinner to see Peyton appearin'at our front gate.
"I--I'm sure I don't know what you'll think of me, Torchy," he beginsapologizing "but I--I just had to----"
"Too bad!" says I. "You're only four hours late. Lucy Lee left for Lenoxon the 2:10."
"Gone!" says he. "But I thought----"
"Yes, she did plan to stay longer," says I, "but it was a bit slow forher here, and when she got a wire that a certain Captain Wright was tobe at his sister's for a few days' furlough--Well, inside of an hour sheand her maid had packed and were on their way. Oh, yes, and there goesthe rest of Lucy Lee's baggage now."
The express truck was just rollin' around from the side door. Peytonstares at the load goggle-eyed. "But--but you don't mean that all ofthose trunks are hers?" he demands.
"Uh-huh," says I. "I helped strap 'em up. And one of them wardrobes,Peyton, carries about twenty-five of those little checked dresses. Thehats go in the square affair, and the shoes in the steamer trunk.Thirty-eight pairs, I believe. Just enough for a week-end. Then in thatbulgy-topped trunk----"
But Peyton ain't listenin'. He's just standin' there, with a dazed,stunned look in his eyes like he'd just been missed by an express train.But his lips are movin'. I got the idea. He was doin' mentalarithmetic--twenty-five times ninety-three. And he was gettin' a pictureof a thousand dollar income lyin' flat on its back.
When he comes to be asks me faint when he can get back to town. No, hewon't stay for dinner. "Thank you," says he, "but I couldn't. I'm toomuch upset. I fear that I--I've made a dreadful mistake, Torchy."
"About Lucy Lee?" says I. "Don't worry. All you've done is come nearcontributin' another silver frame to her collection. You just happenedto find a free field, that's all. Otherwise it would have been a casewhere you'd stood in line."
Course Peyton don't believe a word of it. He still thinks he's had adesperate affair. He don't know whether he's safe yet or not. All he cansee is rows and rows of figures assaultin' that poor little expense bookof his. I expect he thinks he's entitled to wear a wound stripe over hisheart.
Yesterday we had a bread-and-butter note from Lucy Lee mostly tellingwhat a whale of a time she was havin' up at Lenox.
"Anything about Peyton?" I asks.
"Why, no," says Vee. "But she says the dear captain is----"
"I know," says I. "Simp-ly wonderful."