Torchy

by Sewell Ford

  CHAPTER V

  WHERE MILDRED GOT NEXT

  There's nothin' wins out surer in this town of New York than puttin' upa good front. If you've got the fur coat and the goggles on your cap,you can walk or ride on a transfer, and folks'll take it as a cinch thatyour bubble's back in the garage bein' fitted with a new set ofhundred-dollar tires. Why, just the smell of benzine on a suit you've hadout to the cleaners will give 'em the dream, if you throw your chest outright.

  Look at the way Mildred has us goin'. Maybe you don't know aboutMildred. Say, I'll bet if you met up with her on Fift'-ave. you'd holdyour breath till she got by and wonder whether she was a Vanderbilt orone of the Goulds! But she floats into the Corrugated Trust offices moreor less reg'lar every day, just the same, and does her little stunt onthe typewriter at so much per. Honest, when I sees her sailin' inmornin's, with all her swell drygoods on, I'm just as liable as not tohalf break my neck openin' the door for her. That's what I did thefirst time I saw her, when I was new on the gate.

  "This way, lady," says I, and when she pikes right by and heads for thecloakroom I almost has a fit.

  Maybe there's some hot ones down around Broad-st. that drives tobusiness in cabs and pounds the keys durin' office hours; but for agenuine, mercerized near silk we stand ready to back Mildred against thefield. She'd have an expert guessin', Mildred would. "Miss Morgan" isthe way she figures on the payroll; but that never sounded rich enoughfor me.

  It was the first week I was there that I begun to get a line on Mildred.One day the old man calls me in and hands me a letter that's been put onhis desk for him to sign. He was plum color, Old Hickory was, so mad hecould have chewed a file.

  "Boy," says he, "take this into the main office, find out who M. M. is,and bring her in here. Anybody that can spell in that fashion I want totake a good look at."

  Think of the shock I gets when Piddie tells me them letters stand forMildred Morgan.

  "Lady," says I, "I hates to say it, but the boss is waitin' to hand outa call-down to you. Don't you go to gettin' scared stiff, though; for thefirst cussword he lets go of I'll chuck a chair at him."

  The smile I gets for that would have been worth half a dozen jobs. I waslookin' for her to go white and begin bitin' her upper lip, like theyusually does; but she ain't that kind--not on your nameplate! She justpeels off the sleeve protectors, sets her side combs in firm, gives herface a dab or so with the rabbit's foot, and starts along after me, withthat new antelope walk of hers, as easy and pleased as if she'd beenasked to come to the front and pour tea.

  And she's got the costume the part calls for, mind you! They're the onlyclothes of the kind I ever see wore into this buildin'. I couldn't saywhat they was made of; but I know they're the button-up-the-back style,and that they stick to her as if they'd been put on by a paper-hanger. Iguess you'd call Mildred a 1911 model. Anyway, she seems to bulge in theright places; though how anyone so long-waisted as that can getthemselves into such a rig without callin' for help is somethin' Ipasses up.

  Well, I tows her into the boss's office, feelin' as mean as a welsher.The old man has settled back in his chair, a cigar pointin' out of onecorner of his mouth, and a letter in one fist. While I'm gone he's runacross another, worse than the first, by the marks he's made on it, andhe's got to the point where a thermometer slipped down the back of hisneck would go off like a cap pistol.

  "See here!" says he, growlin' it out grouchy, without lookin' up. "I'dlike to have you run your eye over that, and then tell me where inthunder you learned to spell such s-u-t-c-h!"

  "Why," says she, "I always spell it that way; don't you?"

  "Don't I!" roars the old man. "Do you take me for a----"

  Then he looks up. Well, say, you talk about your fadin' sunsets! Nothin'I ever see beat the way the boss lost his crushed raspb'rry face tintand bleached out salmon pink. "Why--why--er--are you sure this is someof your work, young woman?"

  "Oh yes, indeed," says she, kind of gurgly and aristocratic and as sweetas pie, "that's mine. But you've made so many horrid marks on it that Ishall have to do it all over again."

  "Yes," says he, "I'm afraid that's so. But we have a way here, you know,of spelling explicit with a C instead of an S."

  "Ruhlly?" says she. "How odd!"

  "It's one of our fads, too," goes on the old man, "not to spellCorrugated g-a-i-t-e-d. We've simplified it by leaving out the I. Ofcourse, we don't expect you to learn all these things at once; but pick'em up as fast as you can. That--that's all. Thank you very much,Miss--er----What's the name?"

  "Morgan," says she, "Mildred Morgan."

  "Ah," says the boss, "very much obliged, Mil--er--Miss Morgan," andbefore I could get to the door he has hopped up and opened it for her.

  Then he turns around and sees me standin' there grinnin'. "Torchy," sayshe, "are there any more like that around the shop?"

  "None that I ever saw," says I.

  "Thank Heaven!" says he. "Send in one of the other kind."

  "Want a real ripe one?" says I.

  He does. And say, we got plenty of them. I picks out one with washed-outeyes, front teeth that sticks out, and no shape to speak of. She couldmake the typewriter do a double shuffle, though, and there couldn'tanybody around the place sling out words faster'n she could take 'emdown on her pad, or any she couldn't spell right the first crack. Theold man fixes it that she's to go over Mildred's work with an ink eraserbefore it comes to him.

  If Mildred knew about it, she never let on. Nothin' much bothered her.She'd come sailin' in any old time durin' the forenoon, lookin' ashan'some as a florist's window and actin' as if she never heard of sucha thing as a time clock. Piddie tackles her only once.

  "Miss Morgan," says he, "business begins here at nine o'clock promptly."

  "How absurd!" says Mildred, and Piddie don't get over the shock for anhour.

  About the second week all hands took a vote that Mildred wa'n't much ofa success as a typewriter artist and that she ought to be fired. The oldman put it up to Mr. Robert, and Mr. Robert shoves it back at him. Thenthey both loaded it onto Piddie and cleared out. When they come backthey asks him if he's done it.

  "Well," says he, colorin' up, "not exactly."

  Come to make him own up, he'd gone at the job so easy and had been sopolite about it that Miss Morgan has time to head him off with a strikefor more pay, and before he can back out he's promised to see what canbe done.

  "Couldn't you talk to her, Mr. Ellins?" says he.

  "Great Scott, no!" says the boss. "Tell her she's raised, and let it goat that."

  For awhile, though, Mildred cost the firm a lot more money than hersalary, if you reckon up as worth anything the time a lot of two-by-fourink-slingers spent makin' goo-goo eyes at her. It was a losin' game allaround. Mildred didn't seem to be pinin' for any such honors, and afterthey got well acquainted with the fact that she wouldn't stand for lunchinvites, or bids to the theater, and didn't want to be walked home withby a perfect gent, they let up on that foolishness. It leaves 'em dizzy,though. There's pinheads on our gen'ral office staff who believes theynever missed breakin' a heart before, and they can't figure out justwhat's the matter with the combination.

  There was others, too, that couldn't place Mildred, until some one hintsthat maybe she's a sure enough swell whose folks had gone broke, andthat she's picked out a typewriter job as a sort of trapdoor that wouldlet her down out of sight and keep the meal ticket renewed.

  After that Mildred is as much of a myst'ry as why folks live inBrooklyn. We was all wise to the main proposition, though, and it wasfunny to hear 'em all sayin' that they'd known it right along. Kind ofset us up some, too, havin' a real ex-ice cutter like her right on thefloor with us. All the other key pounders, that had been givin' her thestary eye at first, flops around and uses the sugar shaker. There wasn'tanything they wouldn't do for her, and they takes turns holdin' herjacket, so's to get a peek at the trademark on the inside of the collar.

  But Piddie is the most pleased of any. He thin
ks he's right to homeamong carriage folks, and every time she comes near he bows and scrapesand begins to shoot off the "Aw, I'm suah's" and the "Don'tcher know's,"until you'd think he was talkin' through a mouthful of hot breakfastfood.

  "Chee!" says I to him. "You act like you thought this was a five o'clocktea."

  "I trust," says he, "I know a lady when I see one, and that I know howto treat her too."

  "That's so," says I. "Too bad you wa'n't on the stage, Piddie, in one ofthem 'Me lu'd, the carriage waits' parts."

  That gives me a cue, and the next time she sends me for supplies I saysto him, "Mr. Piddie," says I, "the Lady Mildred presents her complimentsand says she wants a new paste brush."

  Gets him wild, that does; so I sticks to it. The others hears it andpicks it up too, and she wa'n't called anything but Lady Mildred fromthat on. First thing I knew I'd said it to her face; but she never somuch as looks surprised. You'd thought she'd been called Lady Mildredall her life.

  "Who knows?" says Piddie. "Perhaps she has."

  Honest, we was makin' up all kinds of pipe dreams about her, andbelievin' 'em as we went along. There was no findin' out from her whatwas so and what she wa'n't. She never gets real chummy with anyone; butkeeps us jollied along about so much. It was dead easy. All she had todo was to throw a smile our way, and we was tickled for a week. Wasn'tanyone around the place needed so much waitin' on as her; but no oneever minds. Gen'rally there was two or three on the jump for her, andothers willin' to be.

  Course, that don't include Mr. Robert. He seems to think Lady Mildredwas some kind of a joke; but, then, I expect he sees so many stunnerslike her every night, knockin' around at dinner parties and such, thathe gets tired lookin' at 'em. I'd been carryin' it against him, though,and maybe that's what put it into my nut to get so gay with Louie.

  Louie's the gent in the leather leggin's and north-pole outfit thatcomes around after Mr. Robert every night with the machine. Say, it's areg'lar rollin' bay window, that car of Mr. Robert's! I wouldn't mindhavin' one of that kind taggin' around after me. But if I was pickin' ashover I'd pass Louie by. He wears his nose too high in the air and istoo friendly with himself to suit me. There's a lot of them honk-honkboys just like him; but he's the only one I ever has a chance to getreal confidential with. It's like this:

  Mr. Robert says to me, "Torchy, if I'm not back by five o'clock, you maytell Louie when he comes that he needn't wait."

  "Sure thing," says I.

  Then, when Mr. Robert don't show up at closin' time, I chases down tothe curb and sings out, "Hey, Frenchy, you tip huntin' ex-waiter! It'sback to the garage for yours! And say! After you've run your old coalcart into the shed you can go let yourself out as a sign for a furstore. Ah, that's right. Nothin' doin' here. Skidoo!"

  Always makes me feel better after I've handed Louie one like that--hisears turns such a lovely pink, specially when there's a crowd around.When I has time to chew it over I can think up some beauts. But thisnight I was goin' to tell you about I didn't have any warnin' at all.Mr. Robert was right in the middle of a heart-to-heart talk with aPittsburg man, when five o'clock comes and the word is sent up thatLouie has came.

  "Tell him to come back in about half an hour," says Mr. Robert to me.

  "Repeat at five-thirt'," says I, sliding out for the elevator.

  It was an elegant afternoon,--for pneumonia,--slush and rain and ice-boxzephyrs gallopin' up and down the street. Louie didn't look as though hewas enjoyin' it any too much, for all his furs. I was just turnin' up mycollar for a dash across the sidewalk and back, when out comes LadyMildred in a raincoat that was a dream and carryin' a silver-handledumbrella such as you don't find on the bargain counters. And then Igets my funny thought.

  "Carriage for you, miss," says I, grabbin' the rain tent and hoistin'it. "Right this way, miss."

  Say, she's a dead game sport, Mildred is. Never stopped to ask any foolquestions; but prances right out to the car, just as though she'dexpected it to be there.

  "Take the lady home, and be back after Mr. Robert in half an hour,Louie," says I, jerkin' open the door and handin' her in.

  It was about then that I almost had heart failure. Stowed away in thefurther corner, as comf'table as if he was at the club, was Benny. Iforget what the rest of his name is; Mr. Robert never calls him anythingbut Benny. They're chums from way back,--travel in the same push, liveon the same block, and has the same ideas about killin' time. But that'sas far as the twin description goes. Benny looks and acts about as muchlike Mr. Robert as a cream puff looks like a ham sandwich. All Bennyever does is put on more fat and grow more cushions on the back of hisneck. He's about five foot three, both ways, one of these rolypoly boys,with dimples all over him, pink and white cheeks, and baby-blue eyes.Oh, he's cute, Benny is; but the bashfullest forty-four fat that evercarried a cane, a reg'lar Mr. Shy Ann kind of a duck. He has a lispwhen he talks too, and that makes him seem cuter'n ever.

  About twice a week he drifts up to the brass gate and says to me, "Thay,thonny, whereth Bob?" Makes my mouth pucker up like I'd been suckin' alemon, just to hear him. And if he sees one of the girls lookin'sideways at him he'll dodge behind a post.

  There he was, though, and there was Mildred pilin' in alongside of him.She didn't give any sign of backin' out, and it was too late for me tohedge; so I ups and does the honors.

  "Mr. Benny," says I, "Miss Morgan."

  "Oh, I--I thay," splutters Benny, makin' a move to bolt, "perhapth I'dbetter----"

  "Forget it!" says I, slammin' the door. "Ding, ding, Louie! Get a moveon! If you don't fetch back here by five-thirt' you lose your job. See?"

  Frenchy didn't need any urgin', though, and he has the wheels goin'round in no time at all. I watched the car for a couple of blocks anddidn't see anything of Benny jumpin' out of the window; so I reckonsthat he's too scared to make the break. I had a picture of him,squeezin' himself up against the side of the tonneau, lookin' at histhumbs, and turnin' all kinds of colors.

  "If it don't give him apoplexy, maybe it'll do him good," thinks I.

  It was funny while it lasted; but when I thinks of what Mr. Robert'llsay when the tale is doped out to him. I has a chill. First off Ithought I'd go up and write out my resignation; but then I remembers howlong it is since I've had the sport of bein' fired, and I makes up mymind to see the thing through.

  I was lookin' to be called up on the carpet first thing next mornin',but it don't come. Mr. Robert never says a word all day long, nor thenext, and by that time the thing was gettin' on my nerves. Then Bennybobs up, as usual. I has my eye peeled from the minute he opens thedoor. He don't look warlike or anything; but you never can tell aboutthese fat men, so when he hits the gate I dodges behind the watercooler.

  "Wha--w'ath the matter, thonny?" says he.

  "G'wan!" says I.

  "Ithn't Bob in?" says he.

  "Go on in and tell Mr. Robert, if you want to," says I; "but don't lookfor any openin' to sit on me. No pancake act for mine!"

  He just grins at that; but goes on into the office without makin' asingle pass at me. Course, I was sure the riot act was due inside of anhour. But never a word. Nor Mildred don't have anything to say, either.It was like waitin' for a blast that don't go off.

  Things went on that way for a couple of weeks, and I was forgettin'about it, when Piddie tells me one mornin' that Mildred's up and quitand nobody knows why. About an hour after that Mr. Robert sends for me.

  "Torchy," says he, "I'm tracing out a mystery, and as you seem to knowabout everything that's going on, I'm going to ask you to help me out."

  "Ah, say," says I, "w'at's the use stringin' out the agony? Benny'ssquealed, ain't he?"

  "No," says Mr. Robert. "That's the point. Benny hasn't. All I've beenable to get out of him is that a short time ago he met a very charmingyoung woman--in my car."

  "That's right," says I. "It was me put her in."

  "Ah!" says Mr. Robert. "Now we're getting somewhere."

  "Oh, you've hit the trail," says I.


  "Well," says he, "who was she?"

  "Why," says I, "the Lady Mildred."

  "Whe-e-e-ew!" says Mr. Robert, through his front teeth. "Not the onethat spells such with a T?"

  "Ah, chee!" says I. "What's the odds how she spells, so long as she'sgot Lillian Russell in the back row? I didn't know your fat friend wasin the car, anyway, and I thinks Frenchy might as well be cartin' herhome in the rain as blockin' traffic on some side street. So I justloads her in and gives Louie the word. She never knew but what you hadsense enough to do it yourself. Course, it was a fresh play for me tomake; but I'll stand for it, and if Benny's feelin's was hurt, or yourswas, you got an elegant show to take it out on me. Come on! Get out thecan and the string!"

  But you can't hustle Mr. Robert along that way. When he gets hisprogramme laid out there ain't any use to try any broad jumps. He wantsto know all about Mildred, who she is, where she comes from, and what'sher class.

  "You can take it from me," says I, "that she's a star. She's been up inthe top bunch too, I guess; anyone can see that. But so long as she'sjumped the job, where's the sense in lookin' up her pedigree now?"

  "Well," says Mr. Robert, "I am still more or less interested. You see,she and Benny are to be married next month."

  "Honest?" says I.

  "I have it from Benny himself," says he.

  "Did Benny tell you how he worked up the nerve to make such a swift jobof it?" says I.

  He hadn't. Near as I could make out, Benny hadn't told much of anything.

  "Well," says I, "he's picked a winner, ain't he?"

  "That," says Mr. Robert, "is something I mean to find out."

  And say, if you ever see that jaw of Mr. Robert's, you'll know he did.And she wa'n't an Astor or a Gould in disguise. She was just plain MissMorgan, that had come on with her mother from Kansas City, or Omaha, orsomewhere out there; put in six or eight months in a swell dressmaker'sshop; learned how to make herself the kind of clothes that look likeready money; shuffled off her corn-belt accent; and then broke into thetypewritin' game while she waited for somethin' better to turn up.

  "And Benny was it, wa'n't he?" says I to Mr. Robert.

  "With your help, Torchy," says he, "it appears that he was."

  "Well," says I, "he needed the push, all right, didn't he!"

  Fired? Me? Ah, quit your kiddin'! Why, they're tickled to death now, allof 'em. They're beginnin' to find out that Mildred's quite a girl, evenif she ain't got a lot of fat-wad folks back of her.

  And say, w'atcher think! Benny comes around here the other day wearin' abroad grin, lugs me out to his tailor's to have me taped for a wholeoutfit of glad rags, and says I've got to be one of the ushers at theweddin'. Wouldn't that sting you?