by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER XIV
FORSYTHE AT THE FINISH
I expect I wouldn't have noticed Forsythe particular if it hadn't beenfor Mrs. Robert. It takes all kinds, you know, to make up a week-endhouse-party bunch; and in these days, when specimens of the razor-usin'sex are so scarce--well, that's when half portions like this T. ForsytheHurd get by as full orders.
Besides, Mrs. Robert had meant well. Her idea was to make the Captain's48-hour shore leave as gay and lively as possible. She'd had a hard timeroundin' up any of his friends, too. Hence Forsythe. One of these slim,fine-haired, well manicured parlor Pomeranians, Forsythe is--the kindwho raves over the sandwiches and whispers perfectly killin' things tothe ladies as he flits about at afternoon teas.
We were up at the Ellinses', Vee and me, fillin' out at Saturdayluncheon, when Mr. Robert drifts in, about an hour behind schedule. Youknow, he's commandin' one of these coast patrol boats. Some of 'em areconverted steam yachts, some are sea-goin' tugs, and then again someare just old menhaden fish-boats painted gray with a few three-inch gunsstuck around on 'em casual. And this last is the sort of craft Mr.Robert had wished on him.
Seems there'd been some weather off the Hook for the last few days, and,with a fresh U-boat scare on, him and his reformed glue barge had beenhavin' anything but a merry time. I don't know how the old fish-boatstood it, but Mr. Robert showed that he'd been on more or less activeservice. He had a three days' growth of stubble on his face, his navyuniform was wrinkled and brine-stained, and the knuckles on one handwere all barked up.
"Why, Robert!" says young Mrs. Ellins, as she wriggles out of the clinchand gives him the once-over. "You're a sight."
"Sorry, my dear," says Mr. Robert; "but the beauty parlor on the_Narcissus_ wasn't working when I left. But if you can give me half anhour to----"
He got it. And when he shows up again in dry togs and with his facemowed he's almost fit to mingle with the guests. It was about then thatT. Forsythe was pullin' his star act at the salad bowl. Course, when youhave only ordinary people around, you let the kitchen help do suchthings. But when Forsythe is present he's asked to mix the saladdressin'.
So there is Forsythe, wearin' a jade-green tie to match the color of thesalad bowl, surrounded by cruets and pepper grinders and paprikabottles, and manipulatin' his own special olivewood spoon and fork asdainty and graceful as if he was conductin' an orchestra.
"Oh, I say, Jevons," says he, signalin' the Ellinses' butler, "havesomeone conduct a clove of garlic to the back veranda, slice it, andgently rub it on a crust of fresh bread. Then bring me the bread. And doyou mind very much, Mrs. Ellins, if I have those Papa Gontier rosesremoved? They clash with an otherwise perfect color scheme, and you'veno idea how sensitive I am to such jarring notes. Besides, their perfumeis so beastly obtrusive. At times I've been made quite ill by them.Really."
"Take them away, Jevons," says Mr. Robert, smotherin' a sarcastic smile.
"Huh!" grumbles Mr. Robert. "What a rotter you are, Forsythe. If I couldonly get you aboard the _Narcissus_ for a ten-day cruise! I'd introduceyou to perfumes, the sort you could lean up against. You know, when aboat has carried mature fish for----"
"Please, Bob!" protests Forsythe. "We admit you're a hero, and thatyou've been saving the country, but don't let's have the disgustingdetails; at least, not when the salad dressing is at its most criticalstage."
Havin' said which, Forsythe proceeds to finish what was for him a hardday's work.
Discussin' his likes and dislikes was Forsythe's strong hold, and, ifyou could believe him, he had more finicky notions than a sanatoriumfull of nervous wrecks. He positively couldn't bear the sight of this,the touch of that, and the sound of the other thing. The rustle of anewspaper made him so fidgety he could hardly sit still. The smell ofboiled cabbage made him faint. Someone had sent him a plaid necktie forChristmas. He had ordered his man to pick it up with the fire-tongs andthrow it in the ash-can. Things like that.
All through luncheon we listened while Forsythe described the awfulagonies he'd gone through. We had to listen. You can guess what a joy itwas. And, all the time, I could watch Mr. Robert gettin' sorer andsorer.
"Entertainin' party, eh?" I remarks on the side, as we escapes from thedinin'-room.
"Forsythe," says Mr. Robert, "is one of those persons you're alwayswanting to kick and never do. I could generally avoid him at the club,but here----"
Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. Then he adds:
"I say, Torchy, you have clever ideas now and then."
"Who, me?" says I. "Someone's been kiddin' you."
"Perhaps," says he; "but if anything should occur to you that might helptoward putting Forsythe in a position where real work and genuinediscomfort couldn't be dodged--well, I should be deeply grateful."
"What a cruel thought!" says I. "Still, if a miracle like that could bepulled, it would be entertainin' to watch. Eh?"
"Especially if it had to do with handling cold, slippery things,"chuckles Mr. Robert, "like iced eels or pickles."
Then we both grins. I was tryin' to picture Forsythe servin' a sentenceas helper in a fish market or assistant stirrer in a soap fact'ry. Notthat anything like that could happen through me. Who was I to interferewith a brilliant drawin'-room performer like him? Honest, with Forsythescintillatin' around, I felt like a Bolsheviki of the third class. Andyet, the longer I watched him, the more I mulled over that hint Mr.Robert had thrown out.
I was still wonderin' if I was all hollow above the eyes, when ourplacid afternoon gatherin' is busted complete by a big cream-coloredlimousine rollin' through the porte-cochere and a new arrival breezin'in. From the way Jevons swells his chest out as he helps her shed themink-lined motor coat, I guessed she must be somebody important.
"Why, it's Miss Gorman!" whispers Vee.
"Not _the_ Miss Gorman--Miss Jane?" I says.
Vee nods, and I stretches my neck out another kink. Who wouldn't? Notjust because she's a society head-liner, or the richest old maid in thecountry, but because she's such a wonder at gettin' things done. Youknow, I expect--Red Cross work, suffrage campaignin', Polish relief.Say, I'll bet if she could be turned loose in Mexico or Russia for acouple of months, she'd have things runnin' as smooth as a directors'meetin' of the Standard Oil.
Look at the things she's put through, since the war started, just bycrashin' right in and stayin' on the job. They say she keeps foursecretaries with their suitcases packed, ready to jump into theirtravelin' clothes and slide down the pole when she pushes the buzzerbutton.
And now she's makin' straight for Mr. Robert.
"What luck!" says she. "I wasn't at all sure of finding you. How muchleave have you? Only until Monday morning? Oh, you overworked navalofficers! But you must find some men for me, Robert; two, at least. Ineed them at once."
"Might I ask, Miss Jane," says he, "if any particular qualificationsare----"
"What I would like," breaks in Miss Gorman, "would be two active,intelligent young men with some initiative and executive ability. Yousee, I am giving a going away dinner for some soldiers of the RainbowDivision who are about to be sent to the transports. It's an officialsecret, of course. No one is supposed to know that they are going tosail soon, but everyone does know. None of their friends or relativesare to be allowed to be there to wish them God-speed or anything likethat, and they need cheering up just now. So I arrange one of thesedinners when I can. My plans for this one, however, have been terriblyrushed."
"I see," says Mr. Robert. "And it's perfectly bully of you, Miss Jane.Splendid! I suppose there'll be a hundred or so."
"Six eighty," says she, never battin' an eye. "We are not including theofficers--only privates. And we don't want one of them to lift a fingerfor it. They've had enough fatigue duty. This time they're to beguests--honored guests. I have permission from the Brigadier in command.We are to have one of the mess halls for a whole day. The chef andwaiters have been engaged, too. And an orchestra. But there'll be somany to manage--the telling of who to go wh
ere, and seeing that theentertainers don't get lost, and that the little dinner favors are putaround, and all those details. So I must have help."
I could see Mr. Robert rollin' his eyes around for me, so I steps up.Just from hearin' her talk a couple of minutes I'd caught the fever.That's a way she has, I understand. So the next thing I knew I'd beenpatted on the shoulder and taken on as a volunteer.
"Precisely the sort of assistant I was hoping for," says Miss Gorman. "Ican tell by his hair. I know just what I shall ask him to do. Butthere'll be so much more; decorating the tables, and----"
Here I nudges Mr. Robert. "How about Forsythe?" I suggests.
"Eh?" says he. "Why--why---- By Jove, though! Why not? Oh, I say,Forsythe! Just a moment."
Maybe the same thought struck him as had come to me, which is thathelpin' Miss Jane give a blowout to near seven hundred soldiers wouldn'tbe any rest-cure stunt. She's rated at about ninety horse-power herself,when she's speeded up, and anybody that happens to be on her staff hasgot to keep movin' in high. They'd have to be ready to tackle anythingthat turned up, too.
But, to hear Mr. Robert explain it to Forsythe, you'd think it was justthat his fame as an arranger of floral center-pieces had spread untilMiss Gorman has decided nobody else would do.
"Although, heaven knows, I never suspected you could be really useful,Forsythe," says Mr. Robert. "But if Miss Jane thinks you'd be ahelp----"
"Oh, I am sure Mr. Hurd would be the very one," puts in Miss Gorman.
"At last!" says Forsythe, strikin' a pose. "My virtues are about to bediscovered. I shall be delighted to assist you, Miss Gorman, in anyway."
"Tut, tut, Forsythe!" says Mr. Robert. "Don't be too reckless. Miss Janemight take you at your word."
"Go on. Slander me," says Forsythe. "Say that, when enlisted in a noblecause, I am a miserable shirker."
"Indeed, I shouldn't believe a word of it, even if I had time to listento him," declares Miss Jane. "And I must be at the camp within an hour.I shall need one of you young men now. Let me see. Suppose I take thisone--Torchy, isn't it? Get your coat. I'll not promise to have you backfor dinner, but I'll try. Thank you so much, Robert."
And then it was a case of goin' on from there. Whew! I've sort of hadthe notion now and then, when I've been operatin' with Old HickoryEllins at the Corrugated Trust on busy days, that I was some rapidprivate sec. But say, havin' followed Miss Jane Gorman through themdinner preliminaries, I know better.
While that French chauffeur of hers is rollin' us down Long Island atfrom forty to fifty miles per hour, she has her note-book out and ispumpin' me full of things I'm expected to remember--what train thechef's gang is comin' on, how the supplies are to be carted over, who tosee about knockin' up a stage for the cabaret talent, and where thebuntin' has been ordered. I borrows a pad and pencil, and wishes I knewshorthand.
By the time we lands at the camp, though, I have a fair idea of the jobshe's tackled; and while she's havin' an interview with the C. O. Istarts explorin' the scene of the banquet. First off I finds that themess-hall seats less than five hundred, the way they got the tablesfixed; that there's no room for a stage without breakin' through one endand tackin' it on; and that the camp cooks will have the range ovensfull of bread and the tops covered with oatmeal in double boilers asusual. Outside of that and a few other things, the arrangements waslovely.
Miss Jane ain't a bit disturbed when I makes my report.
"There!" says she. "Didn't I say you were just the assistant I needed?Now, please tell all those things to the Brigadier. He will know exactlywhat to do. Then you'd best be out here early Monday morning to see thatthey're done properly. And I think, Torchy, I shall make you my generalmanager for this occasion. Yes, I'll do it. Everyone will report firstto you, and you will tell them exactly where to go and what to do."
"You--you mean," says I, gaspin' a bit, "all the hired help?"
"And the volunteers too," says Miss Jane. "Everyone."
Maybe I grinned. I didn't know just how it was goin' to work out, but Icould feel something comin'. Forsythe was goin' to get his. He stood toget it good, too. Not all on account of what I owed Mr. Robert for thefriendly turns he'd done me. Some of it would be on my own hook, to payup for the yawny half hours I'd had to sit through listenin' whileForsythe discoursed about himself. You should have seen the satisfiedlook on Mr. Robert's face when I hinted how Forsythe might be in linefor new sensations.
"If I could only be there to watch!" says he. "You must tell me allabout it afterwards. They'll enjoy hearing of it at the club."
But, at that, Forsythe wasn't the one to walk right into trouble. He's ashifty party, and he ain't been duckin' work all these years withoutgettin' expert at it. Accordin' to schedule he was to show up at thecamp about nine-thirty Monday morning; but it's nearer noon when herolls up in his car. And I don't hesitate a bit about givin' him thecall.
"You know it's this week, not next," says I, "that this dinner is comin'off. And there's four bolts of buntin' waitin' to be hung up."
"Quite so," says Forsythe. "We must get to work right away."
I had to chase down to the station again then, to see that the chef'soutfit was bein' loaded on the trucks; but I was cheered up by thethought of Forsythe balanced on top of a tall step-ladder with his mouthfull of tacks and his collar gettin' wilty.
It's near an hour before I gets back, though. Do I find Forsythe in hisshirt-sleeves climbin' around on the rafters? I do not. He's sittin'comfortable in a camp-chair on a fur motor robe, smokin' a cigarettecalm, and surrounded by half a dozen classy young ladies that he'srounded up by 'phone from the nearest country club. The girls and threeor four chauffeurs are doin' the work, while Forsythe is doin' the heavydirectin'.
He'd sketched out his decoratin' scheme on the back of an envelop, andnow he was tellin' 'em how to carry it out. The worst of it is, too,that he's gettin' some stunnin' effects and is bein' congratulatedenthusiastic by the girls.
It's the same way with fixin' up the tables with ferns and flowers.Forsythe plans it out with a pencil, and his crew do the hustlin'around.
Course, I had to let it ride. Besides, there was a dozen other thingsfor me to look after. But I'm good at a waitin' game. I kept my eye onForsythe, to see that he didn't slip away. He was still there attwo-thirty, havin' organized a picnic luncheon with the young ladies,when Miss Jane blew in. And blamed if she don't fall for Forsythe'sstuff, too.
"Why, you've done wonders, Mr. Hurd," says she. "What a versatile geniusyou are?"
"Oh, that!" says he, wavin' a sandwich careless. "But it's aninspiration to be doing anything at all for you, Miss Gorman."
And here he hasn't so much as shed his overcoat.
It must have been half an hour later when Sig. Zaretti, the head chef,comes huntin' me out with a desperate look in his eyes. I was consultin'Miss Jane about borrowin' a piano from the Y. M. C. A. tent, but hekicks right in.
"Ah, I am distract," says he, puffin' out his cheeks. "Eet--eet ees toomooch!"
"Go on," says I. "Shoot the tragedy. What's too much?"
"That Pedro and that Salvatore," says he. "They have become lost, theworthless ones. They disappear on me. And in three hours I am to serve,in this crude place, a dinner of six courses to seven hundred men. Theyabandon me at such a time, with so much to be done."
"Well, that's up to you," says I. "Can't some of your crowd double inbrass? What about workin' in some of your waiters?"
"But they are all employed," says Zaretti. "Besides, the union does notpermit. If you could assist me with two men, even one. I implore."
"There ain't a cook in sight," says I. "Sorry, but----"
"Eet ees not for cook," he protests. "No; only to help make the peelfrom those so many potatoes. One who could make the peel. Please!"
"Oh!" says I. "Peelin' potatoes! Why, 'most anybody could help out atthat, I guess. I would myself if----"
"No," breaks in Miss Jane. "You cannot be spared. And I'm sure I don'tknow who could."
> "Unless," I puts in, "Mr. Hurd is all through with his decoratin'."
"Why, to be sure," says she. "Just tell him, will you?"
"Suppose I send him over to you, Miss Gorman," says I, "while I hustlealong that piano?"
She nods, and I lose no time trailin' down Forsythe.
"Emergency call for you from Miss Jane," says I, edgin' in among hisadmirers and tappin' him on the shoulder. "She's waitin' over byheadquarters."
"Oh, certainly," says Forsythe, startin' off brisk.
"And say," I calls after him, "I hope it won't be anything that'll makeyou faint."
"Please don't worry about me," says he.
Well, I tried not to. In fact, I tried so hard that some folks mighthave thought I'd heard good news from home. But I'd had a peek or twointo the camp kitchen since Zaretti's food construction squad had movedin, and, believe me, it was no place for an artistic temperament,subject to creeps up the back. There was about a ton of cold-storageturkeys bein' unpacked, bushels of onions goin' through the shuckin'process, buckets of soup stock standin' around, and half a dozenmurderous-lookin' assistant chefs was sharpenin' long knives andjabberin' excited in four languages.
Oh, yes; Forsythe was goin' to need all the inspiration he'd collected,if he lasted through.
I kind of wanted to stick around and cheer him up with friendly wordswhile he was fishin' potatoes out of the cold water and learnin' to usea peelin'-knife, but my job wouldn't let me. After I'd seen the pianolanded on the new stage, there were chairs to be placed for theorchestra, and then other things. So it was some little time before Igot around to the kitchen wing again, pretendin' to be lookin' forZaretti. But nowhere in that steamin', hustlin', garlic-smellin' bunchcould I see Forsythe.
"Hey, chef!" I sings out. "Where's that expert potato-peeler I sentyou?"
"Ah!" says he, rubbin' his hands enthusiastic. "The signor with theyellow gloves? In the tent there you will find heem."
So I steps over to the door of a sort of canvas annex and peers in. Andsay, it was a rude shock. Forsythe is there, all right. He's snuggled upcozy next to an oil heater, holdin' a watch in one hand and a cigarettein the other, while around him is grouped his faithful fluffbody-guard, each with a pan in her lap and the potato-peelin's comin'off rapid. Forsythe? Oh, he seems to be speedin' 'em up and keepin'tally.
I'd just let out my second gasp when I feels somebody at my elbow, andglances round to find it's Miss Jane.
"Look!" says I, indicatin' Forsythe and his busy bees.
"What a picture!" says Miss Jane.
"Yes," says I, "illustratin' the manly art of lettin' the women do it."
Miss Jane laughs easy.
"It has been that way for ages," says she. "Mr. Hurd is only runningtrue to type. But see! The potatoes are nearly all peeled and our dinneris going to be served on time. What splendid assistants you've bothbeen!"
At that, though, if there'd been a medal to be passed out, I guess itwould have been pinned on Forsythe.