by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER III
TORCHY TAKES A CHANCE
Say, I expected that after I got to be a salaried man, with aswing-chair in Mr. Robert's private office, I'd be called on only topull the brainy stuff, calm and dignified, without any outside chasin'around. I had a soothin' idea it would be a case of puttin' in mymornin's dictatin' letters to gen'ral managers, and my afternoons toholdin' interviews with the Secretary of the Treasury, and so on. I waslookin' for plenty of high-speed domework, but nothin' more wearin' onthe arms than pushin' a call button or usin' a rubber stamp.
But somehow I can't seem to do finance, or anything else, withoutthrowin' in a lot of extra pep. No matter how I start, first thing Iknow I'm mixed up with quick action, and as likely as not gettin' myclothes mussed. This last stunt, though--believe me I couldn't have gotmore thrills if I'd joined a circus!
It opens innocent enough too. I was moochin' around the bondroom when Ihappens to glance over the transfer book and notices that a big block ofour debenture 6's are listed as goin' to the Federated Tractions. Andthe name of the party who's about to swap the 6's for Tractionspreferred is a familiar one. It's Aunty's. Uh-huh--Vee's!
Maybe you remember how Aunty played up her skittish symptoms about themsame bonds a few weeks back, the time she planned to exhibit me to Veein my office boy job and got so badly jolted when she finds me posin' asa private sec instead? Went away real peeved, Aunty did that time. Andnow it looks like she was takin' it out by unloadin' her bond holdin's.It's to be some swap too, runnin' up into six figures.
"Chee!" thinks I. "That's an income, all right, with Tractions payin'between 7 and 9, besides cuttin' a melon now and then."
They have their gen'ral offices three floors below us, you know. Notthat I wouldn't have had a line on 'em anyway; for whatever that bunchof Philadelphia live wires gets hold of is worth watchin'. Say, they'dconsolidate city breathin' air if they could, and make it pay dividends.It's important to note too, that they're buyin' into Corrugated so deep.I mentions the fact casual to Mr. Robert.
"Really," says he, liftin' his eyebrows surprised. "Federated Tractions!Are you certain?"
"Unless our registry clerk has had a funny dream," says I. "The noticewas listed yesterday. And you know how grouchy the old girl was on us."
"H-m-m-m!" says he, drummin' his fingers nervous. "Thanks, Torchy. Imust look into this."
Seemed to worry Mr. Robert a bit; so maybe that's why I had my earsstretched wider'n usual. It wa'n't an hour later that I runs across IzzyBudheimer down in the Arcade. He's on the Curb now, Izzy is, and by thesize of the diamond horseshoe decoratin' the front of his silk shirt hemust be tradin' some in wildcats. Hails me like a friend and brother,Izzy does, tries to wish a tinfoil Fumadora on me, and gives me thehappy josh about bein' boosted off the gate.
"You'll be gettin' wise to all the inside deals now, eh?" says he,winkin' foxy. "And maybe we might work off something together. Yes?"
"Sure!" says I. "I'll come down every noon with the office secrets andlet you peddle 'em around Broad street from a pushcart. Gwan, youparrot-beaked near-broker! Why, I wouldn't trust tellin' you the time ofday!"
Izzy grins like I'd paid him a compliment. "Such a joker!" says he. "Butlisten! Which side do the Tractions people come down on?"
"Federated?" says I. "North corridor, just around the corner. Sleuthin'around that bunch, are you? What's doing in Tractions?"
"How should I know?" protests Izzy, openin' his eyes innocent. "Maybe Igot a customer on the general staff, ain't it?"
"You'd be scoutin' up here at this time of day after a ten-dollarcommission, wouldn't you?" says I. "And with that slump in ConnecticutGas in full blast! Can it, Izzy! I know a thing or two about Tractionsmyself."
"Yes?" he whispers persuasive, almost holdin' his breath. "What do youhear, now?"
"Don't say I told you," says I, "but they're thinkin' of puttin' inleft-handed straps for south-paw passengers."
Izzy looks pained and disgusted. He's got a serious mind, Izzy has, andif you could take a thumbprint of his brain, it would be all fractionsand dollar signs.
"I have to meet my cousin Abie Moss," says he, edgin' away. "He has abookkeeper's job with Tractions for a month now, and I promised his auntI would ask how he's comin'."
"How touchin'!" says I as he moves off.
I gazes after him curious a minute, and then follows a sudden hunch. Whynot see just how much of a bluff this was about Cousin Abie? So I slipsaround by the cigar stand, steps behind a pillar, and keeps him inrange. Three or four minutes I watched Izzy waitin' at the elevatorexit, without seein' him give anyone the fraternal grip. Then he seemsto quit. He drifts back towards the Arcade with the lunch crowd, and Iwas about to turn away when I lamps him bein' slipped a piece of paperby a short, squatty-built guy who brushes by him casual. Izzy gathers itin with never a word and strolls over to the 'phone booths, where helets on to be huntin' a number in the directory. All he does there,though, is spread out that paper, read it through hasty, and then tearit up and chuck it in the waste basket.
"Huh!" says I, seein' Izzy scuttle off towards Broadway. "Looks likethere was a plot to the piece. I wonder?"
And just for the fun of the thing I collected them twenty-eight piecesof yellow paper, carried 'em over to my lunch place, and spent the bestpart of my noon-hour piecin' 'em together. What I got was this,scribbled in lead pencil:
Grebel out. Larkin melding. Teg morf rednu.
"Whiffo!" thinks I. "What kind of a Peruvian dialect is this?"
Course the names was plain enough. Everybody knows Grebel and Larkin,and that they're the big wheezes in that Philly crowd. But what then?Had Grebel gone out to lunch? And was Larkin playin' penuchle?Thrillin', if true. Then comes this "Teg morf rednu" stuff. Was thatRussian, or Chinese?
"Heiney," says I, callin' the dough-faced food juggler. "Heiney," Irepeats solemn, "Teg morf rednu."
Not a smile from Heiney. He grabs the bill of fare and begins to huntthrough the cheese list panicky.
"Never mind," says I, "you won't find it there. But here's another: Whatdo you do when you meld a hundred aces, say?"
A look of almost human intelligence flickers into Heiney's face."_Ach!_" says he. "By the table you pud 'em--so!"
"Thanks, Heiney," says I. "That helps a little."
So Larkin was chuckin' something on the table, was he! But this otherdope, "Teg morf rednu?" Say, I'd come back to that after every bite. Iwrote it out on an envelope, tried runnin' it together and splittin' itup diff'rent, and turned it upside down. Then in a flash I got it.
When Mr. Robert sails in from the club I was waitin' for him. He'd hearda rumor that Grebel was to retire soon. Also he'd met young Larkin inthe billiard room, and found that the fam'ly was goin' abroad for thesummer.
"But all that may mean nothing at all, you know," says Mr. Robert.
"And then again," says I. "Study that out and see if it don't tally withyour dope," and I produces a copy of Izzy's wireless.
Mr. Robert wrinkles his forehead over it without any result. "What isit?" says he.
"An inside tip on Tractions," says I, and sketches out how I'd got it.
"Oh, I see now," says he. "That about Grebel? But what is melding? Andthis last--'Teg morf rednu'? I can make no sense of that."
"Try it backwards," says I.
"Why--er--by Jove!" says he. "Get from under, eh? Then--then there is aslump coming. And with all that new stock issue, I'm not surprised. Butthat hits Miss Vee's aunt rather heavily, doesn't it? That is, if thedeal has gone through."
"Who's her lawyers?" says I. "They ought to know."
"Of course," says Mr. Robert, reachin' for the 'phone. "Winkler, Burt &Winkler. Look up the number, will you? Eh? Broad, did you say?"
And inside of three minutes he has explained the case and got theverdict. "They don't know," says he. "The transfer receipts were sentfor her to sign last night. If she's signed them, there's nothing to bedone."
"But if she hasn't?" says
I.
"Then she mustn't," says Mr. Robert. "It would mean letting that crowdget a foothold in Corrugated, and a loss of thousands to her. See ifthe tape shows any recent fluctuations."
"Bluey-ooey!" says I, runnin' over the mornin' sales hasty. "Opened atseven-eighths, then 500 at three-quarters, another block at a half, 300at a quarter--why, it's on the toboggan!"
"She must be found and warned at once," says Mr. Robert.
"Am I the guy?" says I.
"You are," says he. "And minutes may count. I'll get the address foryou. It's in that----"
"Say," I throws over my shoulder on my way to the door, "whose aunt isthis, anyway?"
Looked like a simple matter for me to locate Aunty. And if she was outtakin' her drive or anything--why, I could be explainin' to Vee while Iwaited. That would be tough luck, of course; but I could stand it foronce.
At their apartment hotel I finds nobody home but Celeste, the maid, alldolled up like Thursday afternoon. She hands it to me cold and haughtythat Madame and Ma'mselle are out.
"I could almost guess that from the lid you're wearin'," says I. "One ofMiss Vee's, ain't it?"
She pinks up and goes gaspy at that. "Please," she begins pleadin', "ifyou would not mention----"
"I might forget to," I breaks in, "if you'll tell me where I can find'em quickest."
And Celeste gets the information out rapid. They're house-partyin' atthe Morley Beckhams, over at Quehassett, Long Island. "Rosemere" is thename of the joint.
"Me for Quehassett!" says I, dashin' for the elevator.
But, say, I needn't have lost my breath. Parts of Long Island you canget to every half-hour or so; but Quehassett ain't one of 'em. Huntin'it up on the railroad map, I discovers that it's 'way out to the deuceand gone on the north shore, and the earliest start I can get is thefour o'clock local.
Ever cruise around much on them Long Island branch lines? Say, it mustbe int'restin' sport, providin' you don't care whether you get therethis week or next. I missed one connection by waitin' for the brakemanto call out the change. And when I'd caught another train back to theright junction I got the pleasin' bulletin that the next for Quehassettis the theater train, that comes along somewhere about midnight.
So there I was hung up in a rummy little commuter town where the chiefindustry is sellin' bungalow sites on the salt marsh. Then I tackles the'phone, which results in three snappy conversations with a grouchybutler at sixty cents a throw, but no real dope on the Beckhams ortheir guests.
Well, it's near two A.M. when I fin'lly lands in Quehassett, which is noproper time to call on anybody's aunt. Everything is shut tight too; soI spreads out an evenin' edition on a baggage truck and turns in weary.I'd overlooked pullin' down the front shades to the station, though, andthe next thing I knew the sun was hittin' me square in the face.
I wanders around Quehassett until a Dago opens up a little fruitstand.He sold me some bananas and a couple of muskmelons for breakfast, andpoints out which road leads to Rosemere. It's down on the shore about amile and a half, and I strolls along, eatin' fruit and enjoyin' theearly mornin' air.
Some joint Rosemere turns out to be,--acres of lawn, and rows of stripedawnin's at the windows. The big iron gates was locked, with nobody insight; so I has plenty of time to write a note to Vee, beggin' her forthe love of soup, if Aunty hasn't signed the transfer papers, not to lether do it until she hears from me. My scheme was to get one of the helpto take the message to Vee before she got up.
Must have been near seven o'clock when I gets hold of one of thegardeners, tips him a dollar, and drags out of him the fact that cooksays how all the folks are off on the yacht, which is gen'rallyanchored off the dock. He don't know if it's there now or not. It waslast night. I can tell by goin' down. The road follows that littlecreek.
So I gallops down to the shore. No yacht in sight. There's a point ofland juts out to the left. Maybe she's anchored behind that. Comin' downalong the creek too, I'd seen an old tub of a boat tied up. Back Ichases for it.
Looked simple for me to keep on; but when I get started on a trail Inever know when to stop. I was paddlin' down the creek, bound fornowhere special, when along comes a sporty-dressed young gent, wearin'puttee leggin's and a leather cap with goggles attached. He's luggin' afive-gallon can of gasoline, and strikes me for a lift down the shore abit.
"Keepin' your car in the Sound, are you?" says I, shovin' in towards thebank.
"It's an aerohydro," says he.
"Eh?" says I. "A--a which?"
"An air boat, you know," says he. "I'm going to try her out. Bullymorning for a flight, isn't it?"
"Maybe," says I. "Get aboard. Always have to cart your gas down thisway?"
At that he grows real chatty. Seems this is a brand-new machine, justdelivered the night before, and he's keepin' it a dead secret from thefam'ly, so Mother won't worry. He says that's all nonsense, though; forhe's been takin' lessons on the quiet for more than a year, has earnedhis pilot's license, and can handle any kind of a plane.
"Just straight driving, of course," he goes on. "I don't attempt spiraldips, or exhibition work. I've never been up more than five hundredfeet. And this is such a safe type. Oh, the folks will come around to itafter they've seen me up once or twice. I want to surprise 'em. Thereshe is, up the shore. See!"
Hanged if I hadn't missed it before, when I was lookin' for the yacht!Spidery lookin' affairs, ain't they, when you get close to, with allthem slim wire guys? And the boat part is about as substantial as apasteboard battleship. While he's pourin' in the gasoline I paddlesaround and inspects the thing.
"Five hundred feet up?" says I. "Excuse me!"
He grins good natured. "Think you wouldn't like it, eh?" says he. "Why?"
"Too cobwebby," says I. "Why, them wings are nothin' but cloth."
"Best quality duck, two layers," says he. "And the frame has a tensilestrength of three hundred and fifty pounds to the square foot. Isn'tthat motor a beauty? Ninety-horse."
"Guess I'll take my joy ridin' closer to the turf, though," says I."Course, I've always had a batty notion I'd like to fly some time;but----"
"Hello!" he breaks in. "There goes the Katrina!" and he points out a bigwhite yacht that's slippin' along through the water about half a mileoff. "It's the Beckhams'," he goes on. "They're our neighbors here atRosemere, you know. They have guests from town, and my folks are aboard.By Jove! Here's my chance to surprise 'em. I say, would you mindpaddling around and giving me a shove off?"
But I stands gawpin' out at the yacht. "The Morley Beckhams?" says I.
"Yes, yes!" says he. "But hurry, please. I want to catch them."
"You--you----?" But I was thinkin' too rapid to talk much. Vee and Auntywas out on that boat, and maybe at the next landin' Aunty would mailthem transfers. If it was goin' to hit her alone, I might have stood itcalmer; but there was Vee.
"Say," I sputters out, "ain't there room for two?"
"Why, ye-e-e-es," says he sort of draggy. "I've never taken up apassenger, though; but I've thought that----"
"Then why not now?" says I. "I want to go the worst way."
"But a moment ago," he protests, "you----"
"It's different now," says I. "There's a party on that yacht I want toget word to,--Miss Hemmingway. I got to, that's all! And what's a neckmore or less? I'll take the chance if you will."
"By Jove!" says he. "I'll do it. Shove off. Here, stick your oar intothe mud and push. That's it! Now climb in and give that old tub of yoursa shove so she'll clear that left plane. Good work! Here's your seat,beside me. Don't get your knees in the way of that lever, please, or putyour feet on that cross bar. That's my rudder control. Now! Are youready? Then I'll start her."
Say, I didn't have time to work up any spine chills, or even say a"Now-I-lay-me." He reaches up behind him, gives the crank a whirl, andthe next thing I know we're shootin' over the water like an expresstrain, with the spray flyin', the wind whistlin' in my ears, and eightcylinders exhaustin' direct within two feet of
the back of my neck. Talkabout speedin'! When you're travelin' through the water at aforty-mile-an-hour gait, and so close you can trail your fingers, youknow all about it. Although it's a calm mornin', with hardly a ripple,the motion was a little bumpy. No wonder!
Then all of a sudden I has a sinkin' sensation somewhere under my vest,the bumpin' stops, and I feels like I'd shuffled off somethin' heavy. Ihad--a billion tons or more! Glancin' over the side, I sees the waterten or a dozen feet below us. We were in the air. And, believe me, Ireaches out for something solid to hold onto! All I could find was atwo-inch upright, and I takes a fond grip on that. If it had been atelephone pole, I'd felt better.
My sporty-dressed friend smiles encouragin' over his shoulder. I hope Ismiled back; but I wouldn't swear to it. Not that I'm scared. Hush,hush! But I wa'n't used to bein' shot through the air so impetuous. Itakes another glance overboard. Hel-lup! Someone's pullin' Long IslandSound from under us. The water must have been fifty or sixty feet down,and gettin' more so. For a while after that I looks straight ahead.What's the use keepin' track of how high you are, anyway? You'll onlybore just so big a hole in the water if you fall.
But it's funny how soon you can get over feelin's like that. Inside ofthree minutes I'd quit grippin' the stanchion and was sittin' therepeaceful, enjoyin' the ride. We seemed to be sailin' along on a levelnow, about housetop high, and so far as I could see we was as steady asif we'd been on a front veranda. There's no sway or rock to the machineat all. I'd been holdin' myself as rigid as if I'd been in a tippycanoe; but now I took a chance on shiftin' my position a little. I evenleaned over the side. Nothing happened. That was comfortin'. How easyand smooth it was, glidin' along up there!
Meanwhile we'd taken a wide sweep and was leavin' the yacht far behind.
"Say," I shouts to my aviatin' friend, "how do we get to her?"
But it's no use tryin' to converse with that roar in your ears. I pointsback to the boat. He nods and smiles.
"Wait!" he yells at me.
With that he pulls his plane lever and we begins to climb some more. Youhardly know you're doin' it, though. Up or down don't mean anything inthe air, where the goin' is all the same. Only as we gets higher theSound narrows and Long Island stretches further and further. And, takeit from me, that's the way to view scenery! Up and up we slid, justsoarin' free and careless. He turns to me with another grin, to see howI'm takin' it. And this time I grins back.
"About three hundred!" he shouts, puttin' his mouth close. "Eighty anhour too!"
"Zippy stuff!" says I.
Then he gives me a nudge, juggles his deflectors, and down we shoots. Inever had any part of the map come at me so fast. Seemed like the Soundwas just rushin' at us, and I was tryin' to guess how far into thebottom we'd go, when he pulls the lever again and we skims along justabove the surface. Shootin' the chutes--say, that Coney stunt seems tamecompared to this!
In no time at all we've made a circle around the yacht and are comin' upbehind her once more. We could see the people pilin' out on deck torubber at us. In a minute more we'd be even with 'em. And how was Igoin' to deliver that message to Vee? Just then I looks in my lap, whereI was grippin' my straw lid between my knees, and discovers that I'velugged along one of them muskmelons in a paper bag. That gives me myhunch.
Fishin' out the note I'd written, I slits the melon with my knife andjabs it in. Then I shows the breakfast bomb to my friend and points tothe yacht. He nods. Some bean, that guy had!
"I'll sail over her," he howls in my ear. "You can drop it on the deck."
There was no time for gettin' ready or takin' practice shots. Up weglides into the air right over the white wake she was leavin'. The folkson her was wavin' to us. First I made out Vee, standin' on the littlebridge amidships, lookin' cute and classy in white serge. Then I spotsAunty, who's tumbled out in her boudoir cap and kimono. I leans over andwaves enthusiastic.
"Hey, Vee!" I shouts. "Watch this!"
I'd picked out the widest part of the deck forward, where there's noawnin' up, and when it was exactly underneath I lets the melon go, hardas I could shoot it. Some shot that was too! I saw it smash on the deck,watched one of the sailors stare at it stupid, and then caught a glimpseof Vee rushin' towards the spot. Course I wa'n't sure she knew me atthat distance, or had heard what I said; but trust her for doin' theright thing at the right time!
"There's Mother!" I hears my sporty friend roar out. "I say! Mother!It's Billy, you know."
No doubt about Mother's catchin' on. Maybe she'd suspicioned, anyway;but the last I saw of her she was slumpin' into the arms of awhite-haired old gent behind her.
Another minute and we'd left the Katrina behind like she had sevenanchors out. On we went and up once more, turnin' with a dizzy swoop andskimmin' past her, back towards where we started from. And just as I waswishin' he'd go faster and higher we settles down on the water, dashesin behind the dock, the motor slows up, the plane floats drag in themud, and it's all over.
Took the yacht near an hour to get back to us. Mother had insisted, andwhen she found Billy all safe and sound she fell on his neck and forgavehim.
As for me? Well, maybe I didn't have some swell report to turn in to Mr.Robert! I had him listenin' with his mouth open before I got throughtoo.
"Aunty was mighty suspicious first off," says I; "but after she'd usedthe long distance and got a line on how Tractions was waverin', shewarms up quite a lot, for her. Uh-huh! Gives me a vote of thanks, andsays she'll call off the deal."
"Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "I am speechless with admiration. Yourbusiness methods are certainly advanced. I had not thought of flying asa modern requisite for a commercial career."
"The real thing in high finance, eh?" says I. "And, say, me for the airafter this! I've swallowed the bug. I know how a bloomin' seagull feelswhen he's on the wing; and, believe me, it's got everything else in thesport line lookin' like playin' tag with your feet tied!"