Torchy and Vee

by Sewell Ford

  CHAPTER XIII

  TORCHY STRAYS FROM BROADWAY

  "I must say it listens kind of complicated," says I, after Vee hasexplained how I am to arrive at this country house weddin' fest.

  "Why, Torchy, it's perfectly simple," says she.

  And once more she sketches out the plan, how I'm to take the express toSpringfield, catch a green line trolley that's bound northwest, get offat Dorr's Crossing, and wait until this Barry Crane party picks me up inhis car.

  You see this friend of Vee's who's billed for the blushin' bride act hasdecided to have the event pulled off at Birch Crest, the family's summerhome up in the hills of old N. H. Vee has promised to motor up the daybefore with the bridesmaid, leavin' me to follow the next mornin'. Butwhen we come to look up train schedules it develops that the only way toget to Birch Crest by train is via Boston.

  "How about runnin' up to Montreal and droppin' down?" I suggestssarcastic.

  And then comes the word that this organist guy will be on his way upacross lots, after an over-night stop in New Haven, and will take meaboard if I can make the proper connection.

  "Suppose I make a slip, though?" says I. "There I'll be stranded up inthe pie belt with nothing but my feet to ride fifty miles on. Sorry,Vee, but I guess your old boardin' school chum will have to break intomatrimony without my help."

  Maybe you think that settled it. If you do you ain't tried beingmarried. Inside of half an hour we'd agreed on the usual compromise--I'mto do as Vee says.

  So here at 11:15 on a bright summer mornin' I'm dumped off a trolley carway out on the upper edge of Massachusetts. It's about as lonesome aspot as you could find on the map. Nothing but fields and woods insight, and a dusty road windin' across the right of way. Not a house tobe seen, not even a barn.

  "You're sure this is Dorr's Crossin', eh?" I asks of the conductor as Ihesitates on the step.

  "Oh, yes," says he, cheerful.

  "Don't seem to be usin' it much, does he?" says I.

  "Ding, ding!" remarks the fare collector to the motorman, and it was acase of hoppin' lively for me.

  There's nothing left to do but hoist myself conspicuous onto aconvenient wayside rock and hope that this Barry Crane person wasrunnin' somewhere near on time. About then I begun to wish I knew moreabout him, his general habits and so on. Was his memory good? Could hebe depended on to keep dates with strangers? Would he know Dorr'sCrossing when he saw it?

  Vee hadn't touched on any of these points when she was convincin' me howsimple it would be for him and me to get together. Course, she'd givenme a chatty little sketch of Mr. Crane, but mostly it had been aboutwhat a swell organist he was. Played in a big church. Not only that, butmade up pieces, all out of his own head. Also she'd mentioned about hishopeless romance with a certain Ann McLeod.

  Seems Barry had been strong for Miss McLeod for five or six years. She'dkind of strung him along at first, too. Couldn't help likin' Barry some.Everybody did. He was that kind--good natured, always sayin' cleverthings. You know. But when it came to hitchin' up with him permanent,Miss McLeod had balked. Nobody knew just why. Bright girl, Ann. Brainy,too, and with lots of pep. She was secretary for some big efficiencyexpert. Maybe that was why she couldn't stand for Barry's musicaltemperament. She thought 9 a.m. was absolutely the last call for pushin'back the roll-top and openin' the mornin' mail, while Barry's idea ofbeginnin' a perfect day was for someone to bring in a breakfast trayabout eleven o'clock and hand him a cigarette before he tumbled out ofthe straw. So while he'd qualified as a Dear Old Thing and she'd got tothe point where she'd let him call her Playmate Mine, that's where theromance hung on the rocks. Also he'd been described as a chunky partywith a round face decorated with a cute little mustache and baby blueeyes.

  All of which don't help me dope out how long I'm due to lend a humannote to an otherwise empty landscape. And there's more excitin' outdoorsports than sittin' on a rock waitin' to be rescued by someone whohasn't even seen a snapshot of you. I'll tell the world that. During thefirst twenty minutes I answered two false alarms. One was a gasolinetruck going the wrong way and the other turns out to be an R. F. D.flivver with a baby's go-cart tied on the side. It was good and hot onthe perch I'd picked out and I could feel the sun doing things to theback of my neck and ears, but I didn't dare climb down for fear I'd bemissed.

  Where was this musical gent and his tourin' car? Or would it be alimousine? Somehow from the way Vee had talked, sayin' he was bugs onmotorin', I sort of favored the limousine proposition. Uh-huh. Mostlikely one lined with cretonne, and a French chauffeur at the wheel. Butnothing like that was rollin' past Dorr's Crossing. Not while I waswatchin'.

  The rock wasn't gettin' a bit softer, either. Once a bluejay balancedhimself on a nearby bush and after lookin' me over curious screechedhimself hoarse tryin' to say what he thought of a city guy who didn'tknow enough to get in the shade. It got to be noon. Still no BarryCrane. I was just wonderin' when that trolley car was due for a returntrip and was workin' up a few cuttin' remarks to hand Vee when I got heron the long distance, when I hears something approachin' from down theroad. First off I thought it might be one of these hay mowers runnin'wild, but pretty soon out of a cloud of dust jumps a little roadster. Itsure was humpin' itself and makin' as much noise about it as a ThirdAvenue surface car with two flat wheels. Didn't look very promisin' butI got up and stretched my neck until I saw there was two people in it.Next thing I knew though one of 'em, a young lady, is motionin' to me,and with a squeal of brake bands the little car pulls up opposite therock. And sure enough the young gent drivin' has a sketchy mustache andbaby blue eyes.

  "What ho!" he sings out cheerful. "Torchy, isn't it? Sorry if we've keptyou waiting, but Adelbaran wasn't performing quite as well as usual thismorning. Stow your bag on the fender and climb in."

  "In where?" says I, glancin' at the single seat.

  "Oh, really there's plenty of room for three," says the young lady. "Andfor fear Barry will forget to mention it, I am Miss McLeod. He persuadedme at the last minute to come with him in this crazy machine."

  "Oh, I say, Ann!" protests Barry. "Not so rough, please. You've nonotion how sensitive Adelbaran is to unkind criticism. Besides, he'sbrought us safely so far, hasn't he?"

  Ann shrugs her shoulders and moves over to make room for me. "If you canmake another fifty miles in it I shall almost believe in miracles," saysshe.

  "And in me too, I trust," says Barry. "Hearest thou, Adelbaran? Then on,on, pride of the desert! The women are singing in the tents and--and allthat sort of thing. Ho, ho! for the roaring road!"

  He's some classy little driver, Barry. Inside of a hundred yards he hasher doin' better than twenty-six on an up grade over a dirt roadsprinkled free with rocks and waterbreaks. Slam bang, bumpety-bump,ding-dong we go, with more jingles and squeaks and rattles than a junkcart rollin' off a roof.

  "Don't mind a few little noises," says Miss McLeod. "Barry doesn't. Aloose fender or a worn roller bearing means nothing to him. Why, hestarted with a cracked spark-plug that was spitting like a tom-cat, thecarburetor popping from too lean a mixture, and a half filled radiatorboiling away merrily. It was stopping to get those things fixed up, andhaving some air pumped into the spare tire, that made us so late."

  "You see!" says Barry. "She admits it. Wonderful girl though, Ann. Shecan tell at a glance just what's the matter with anything or anyone.Take me, for instance; she----"

  "Sharp curve ahead, Barry," breaks in Ann.

  "Right-o!" says he, takin' it on two wheels and then stepping on the gasbutton to rush a hill.

  "Lucky we're wedged in tight," says I, "or some of us might be spilledout."

  "Yes," says Miss McLeod, "and Barry never would miss us."

  "Cruel words!" says Barry. "How often have I said, Ann, that I miss youevery hour?"

  "He's off again," says Ann. "But if you must be sentimental, Barry, Ishall insist on doing the driving myself."

  "Squelched!" says Barry. "I'll be good."

  Say, they
made a great team, them two, when it came to exchangin'persiflage. It was snappy stuff and it helped a lot towards taking mymind off Barry's jazz-style drivin'. For he sure does bear down heavywith his foot. If he plays the organ the way he runs a car I shouldthink he'd raise the roof. And the speed he gets out of that dinkylittle roadster is amazin'. Might have been all right on smooth macadam,but on this country road he had her jumpin' around on that shortwheel-base like a jackrabbit with the itch. We might have been so manykernels of pop-corn being shaken over a hot fire. Barry seems to beenjoyin' every minute of it, though. He makes funny cracks, whistles,and now and then breaks into song.

  "Driving a car seems to go to his head," remarks Miss McLeod. "Itappears to make him wild." "It does," says Barry. "For----

  I'm a wild prairie flower, I grow wilder hour by hour. Nobody cares to cultivate me, I'm wild. Whe-e-e-e!"

  He warbles that for the next five minutes, until Miss McLeod suggeststhat it's time for lunch.

  "Let's stop at the next shady place we come to," says she.

  "Oh, bother!" says Barry. "Just when Adelbaran is striking his bestpace. Why not take our nourishment on the fly?"

  So she gets out the sandwiches and the thermos bottle and we take itthat way. Rather than let Barry take either hand off the wheel she feedshim herself, even if he does complain about gettin' his countenancesmeared up with mustard some. Anyway, we didn't lose any time if we didspill more or less of the coffee.

  "Cheerie oh!" sings out Barry, readin' a sign board. "Only twenty milesmore!"

  "But such up-and-downy miles!" says Ann.

  She was dead right about that, for the further we got into New Hampshirethe more the road looked like it had been built by a roller coaster fan.I always had a notion this was a small state, from the way it looks onthe map, but I'll bet if it could be rolled flat once it would spreadout near as big as Texas. All we did was to climb up and up and thenslide down and down. Generally at the bottom was one of these coveredwooden bridges, like a hay barn with both ends knocked out, and the waywe'd roar through those was enough to make you think you was goin'forward with a barrage. Then just ahead would be another long hillwindin' up to the top of the world.

  "Only five miles to go!" sings out Barry at last, along about threeo'clock. "Now, Ann, it's nearly time for you to be saying a few kindwords to Adelbaran and me."

  "I'll be thinking them up," says Ann.

  Perhaps she did. I can't say. For it was somewhere in the middle of thesecond or third hill after this that the little roadster began tosplutter and cough like it had swallowed a monkey wrench.

  "Come, come now, Adelbaran!" says Barry coaxin'. "Don't go misbehavingat this late hour. Remember the women singing in the tents, the palmwaving over the----"

  "Barry," says Ann, "something has gone wrong with your engine."

  "Say not so," says Barry, steppin' on the accelerator careless.

  "But I'm sure!" says Ann. "There!"

  With a final cough the thing has quit cold. All Barry can seem to dothough is to jiggle the spark and look surprised. "Why--why, that'sodd!" says he.

  "Yes, but sitting here isn't going to help," says Miss McLeod. "Get outand see what's happened. Come on."

  And while she's liftin' the hood and pawin' around among the wires andthings, with Barry lookin' on puzzled and helpless, I sort of wandersabout inspectin' Adelbaran curious. It's some relic, all right, and myguess is that it was assembled by a cross-eyed mechanic from choicepieces he rescued off'm a scrap heap. All of a sudden I noticessomething peculiar.

  "Say, folks," I calls out, "where's the gas tank on this chariot?"

  "Why, it's on the back," says Barry.

  "Well, it ain't now," says I. "It's gone."

  "Gone!" echoes Ann. "The gas tank? Oh, that can't be possible."

  "Take a look," says I.

  And sure enough, when they comes around all they can find is the rustedstraps that held it in place and the feed pipe twisted off short.

  "Ha, ha!" says Barry. "How utterly absurd. I've rattled off a lot ofthings before, but never the gas tank. And I suppose that's ratherimportant to have."

  "Quite," says Ann. "One doesn't go motoring nowadays without one."

  "But--but what's to be done?" says Barry. "I simply must get to BirchCrest in time to play the wedding march. The ceremony is to be at 4:30,you know, and here we are----"

  "I should say," breaks in Ann, "that we'd better find that tank and seeif we can't screw it on or something. It can't be far behind, ofcourse."

  That seemed sensible enough. So we spreads out across the road and goesscoutin' down the hill. Didn't seem likely a thing as big as that couldhide itself completely, even if it had bounced off into the bushes. Butwe got clear to the bottom without findin' so much as its track. On wegoes, pawin' through the bushes, scoutin' the ditches on both sides, andpeekin' behind trees.

  "Come, little tankey, come to your master," calls Barry persuasive. Thenhe tries whistlin' for it.

  "Well, we're sure to find it somewhere down that next hill," says Ann."Probably near that water-break where you gave us such a hard jolt."

  But we didn't. In fact, we scouted back over the road for nearly a milewith no signs of the bloomin' thing.

  "Then we've missed it," finally decides Ann. "Of course no car could runthis far without gas."

  "You don't know Adelbaran," says Barry. "He's quite used to runningwithout things. I've trained him to do it."

  "Barry, this is no time to be funny," says she. "Now you take the leftside going back. I'll bet you overlooked it."

  Well, we made a regular drag-net on the return trip, scourin' the bushesfor twenty feet on either side, but no tank turns up.

  "Looks like we were stranded," says I, as we fetches up at the roadsteronce more.

  Miss Ann McLeod, though, ain't one to give up easy. Besides, she's hadall that efficiency trainin'.

  "I don't suppose you carry such a thing as an emergency can of gasolineanywhere in the car?" she asks Barry.

  "I'm sure I don't know," says he. "The fellow in the garage insisted onselling me a lot of stuff once. It's all stowed under the seat."

  "Let's see," says she, liftin' out the cushion. "Why yes, here it is--awhole quart. And a little funnel, too. Now if we could pour enough intothe feed pipe to fill the carburetor----"

  It was a grand little scheme, only the funnel end was too big to fitinto the feed pipe.

  "Any tire tape?" demands Ann.

  Barry thought there was, but we couldn't find it. Then he rememberedhe'd used it to wrap the handle of his tennis racquet once.

  "I got some gum," says I.

  "The very thing!" says Ann. "It must be chewed first though. Here,Barry, take two or three pieces."

  "But I don't care for gum," says Barry. "Really!"

  "If you don't wish to spend the night here, chew--and chew fast," saysAnn.

  So he chewed. We all chewed. And with the three fresh gobs Ann did afirst aid plumbin' job that didn't look so worse. She got the funnel soit would stick on the pipe.

  "But it must be held there," she announces. "I'll tell you, Barry; youwill have to hang out over the back and keep the funnel in place withone hand and pour in the gas with the other, while I drive."

  "Oh, I say!" says Barry. "I'd look nice, wouldn't I?"

  "Torchy will hold you by the legs to keep you from falling off," shegoes on. "Come, unbutton the back curtain and roll it up. There! Now outyou go. And don't spill a drop, mind."

  It sure was an ingenious way of feedin' gas to an engine, and I had mydoubts about whether it would work or not. But it does. First thing Iknew we'd started off with a roar and were tearin' up the hill onsecond. We made the top, too.

  "Now hold tight and save the gas," sings out Ann. "I'm going to coastdown this one full tilt."

  Which she does. Barry bounces around a lot on his elbows and stomach,but I had a firm grip on his legs and we didn't lose him off.

  "More gas now!" calls Ann as we h
its the bottom.

  "Ouch! My tummy!" groans Barry.

  "Never mind," says Ann. "Only three miles more."

  Say, it was the weirdest automobilin' I ever did, but Ann ran witheverything wide open and we sure were coverin' the distance. Once wepassed a big tourin' car full of young folks and as we went by theycaught sight of Barry, actin' as substitute gas tank, and they allturned to give him the haw-haw.

  "Probably they--they think I--I'm doing this on a bub-bet," says Barry."I--I wish I were. I--I'd pay."

  "Store ahead!" announces Ann. "Perhaps we can get some more gas."

  It was a good guess. We fills the can and starts on again, with lessthan two miles to go. I think Barry must have been a bit reckless withthat last quart for we hadn't gone more'n a mile before the enginebegins to choke and splutter. We were almost to the top of a hill, too.

  "Gas all gone," says Barry, tryin' to climb back in.

  "Go back!" says Ann. "Take the funnel off and blow in the feed pipe.There! That's it. Keep on blowing."

  You couldn't beat Ann. The machine takes a fresh spurt, we makes the topof the hill, and halfway down the other side we sees Birch Crest. Hangedif we don't roll right up to the front door too, before the engine givesits last gasp, and Barry, covered with dust and red in the face, ishauled in. We're only half an hour late, at that.

  Course, the whole weddin' party is out there to see our swell finish.They'd been watchin' for us this last hour, wonderin' what had happened,and now they crowds around to ask Barry why he arrives hangin' over theback that way. And you should have heard 'em roar when they gets theexplanation.

  "See!" says Barry on the side to Ann. "I told you folks would laugh atme."

  "Poor boy!" says Miss McLeod, hookin' her arm into his. "Don't mind. Ithink you were perfectly splendid about it."

  "By Jove, though! Do you?" says he. "Would--would you risk another ridewith me, Ann? I know Adelbaran didn't show up very well but----"

  "But your disposition did," cuts in Ann. "And if you're going to insiston driving around the country in such a rattle-trap machine I--I thinkI'd better be with you--always."

  And say, I don't think I ever heard so much pep thrown into the weddin'march as when Barry Crane pumps it out that afternoon. He's wearin' abroad grin, too.

  Soon as I has a chance I whispers the news to Vee. "Really?" says she."Isn't that fine! And I must say Barry is a lucky chap."

  "Well, he's some whizz himself," says I. "Bound to be or else hecouldn't run a car a mile and a half just on his breath."