Torchy

by Sewell Ford

  CHAPTER XI

  RUNG IN WITH THE GOLD SPOONERS

  On the level now, what's a he Cinderella? And if your boss called you aname like that, would you resign, or throw out your chest and strike fora raise? But, then, maybe it was only some of Mr. Robert's fancyjoshin'. Anyway, I'd stand in line waitin' for a thing like that tohappen again.

  The way it begun was when I runs across this new girl in the filin' roomand finds her snifflin' over one of the index cases. She's bitin' herlips to keep from doing it and she's red way up behind her ears; so Iknows she's more mad than sorry. I could guess what's happened; for I'djust seen Piddie come out of there looking satisfied and important.

  "Hello, sis!" says I. "Weepin' over your job so soon?"

  "Shut up!" says she.

  "Why, how pettish!" says I. "What was Piddie callin' you down for?"

  "What's that to you?" says she. "Who are you, anyway?"

  "Me?" says I. "Why, I'm the Corrugated's gen'ral grouch dispeller. I'mthe official little ray of sunshine. See?" and I bobs my head so she canget a good view of my red thatch.

  "Huh!" says she; but she can't help lettin' out a grin, so I sees thecure has begun.

  "Don't you mind Piddie," says I. "He don't dare tie the can to youwithout reportin' higher up. He likes to make a noise like a watchdog,that's all. Next time you give him the merry chuckle."

  And, honest, I'd done the same if she'd been wall-eyed andtoggle-jointed, just for the sake of blockin' off his little game.

  It wa'n't until a couple of days later, when she shoots over a casualflashlight look as I'm strollin' past, that I takes any partic'larnotice of what a Daisy Maizie she is. There's more or less class to herlines, all right, not to mention a pair of rollin' brown eyes. Course, Isends back the roguish wink, and by the end of the week we was callin'each other by our pet names.

  Not that I'm entered reg'lar as a Percy boy, or that I takes this soserious as to miss any meals; but you know how it is. And what if shewas a few years older? She seems to like it when I sing out, "Oh, youTheresa!" at her, and once she mussed up my hair when there wa'n'tanybody lookin'. In fact, I was almost to the point of thinkin' that I'dbeen picked as somebody's honey boy when this Izzy Budheimer shows up asa late entry.

  Izzy, he's a third assistant in the stock department, and on twelve aweek he sports one of those striped green overcoats and a plush hat withthe bow behind. Maybe he wouldn't be listed as a home destroyer; but hehas a flossy way with him and he goes around a lot. About the secondweek I sees him and the new girl gettin' chummier and chummier, and,while she still has a jolly for me now and then, I knows I'm only a sideissue. That's what hurt most. So what fool play must I make but go andplunge on a sixty-cent box of mixed choc'lates for her!

  As luck would have it, Mr. Robert spots me comin' out of the 23d-st.candy shop with the package under my arm. You wouldn't think he'd noticea little clew like that, or pick me up on it; but he does.

  "How now, Torchy?" says he. "Sweets to the sweet, eh?"

  "Uh-huh," says I, and I guess I colors up some.

  "What is the fair one's name?" says he.

  "Tessie," says I.

  "Ah!" says he. "Thus were they ever named: Tessie, Juliet, and Helen ofTroy. They're all one. My envious sympathy, Torchy, and may the gods bekind!"

  Which is only the brand of hot air Mr. Robert blows off whenever he hasa good lunch under his vest and nothin' heavy on his mind. It don't meananything at all.

  "Troy!" says I. "Can it! This ain't for no up-State laundry hand. Shecomes from Eighth-ave."

  Well, I stows the box away until closin' time, and then waits around theupper corridor for Tessie to show up. Izzy, he spots me and proceeds toimprove the time by givin' me an earache about what an important partyhe is, how he expects to be jumped a notch soon, and about how much hemakes nights on the outside, followin' up some checkroom snap or other.

  "That's fine!" says I. "But won't you be late gettin' over toGrand-st.?"

  Izzy was still explainin' how long it was since his folks moved to theWest Side, and what swell things they had in the parlor, when Tessiefloats out with her new spring lid and princess walkin' suit on. I'mjust shovin' out the peace offerin' and gettin' ready to hand over mysmoothest josh, when she brushes past like I was part of the walldecoration, squeals, "Oh, Mr. Budheimer!" and begins showin' Izzy sometickets for the grand annual benefit ball of the Shirtwaist Makers'Union, and tellin' him how she was sellin' 'em for her sister, and whata grand time it was goin' to be.

  "How much?" says Izzy, tryin' hard to choke it back, but losin' thestruggle.

  "Seventy-five for a double ticket," says Tessie. "That's the kind youwant."

  "Maybe I would yet, if I could get a partner," says he.

  "Ain't that an awful sad case?" says Tessie. "Nobody's teased me veryhard, either."

  "You'll go with me, yes?" says Izzy.

  "It's awful sudden," says she; "but a chance is a chance. Don't send acab; the folks in the block might think I was putting on."

  And me? Why, I don't show on the chart at all! Right under my nose shedoes it, and don't even give me a sideways glance.

  "Pooh!" says I. "Pooh, pooh!"

  "What a cute little fellah!" says Tessie to him as they crowds into theelevator with the rest of the push.

  "Say," says I, making a jump for the grating, "you don't need to----"

  "Next car!" sings out the Johnny Flip, slammin' the door. Now wa'n'tthat rubbin' it in?

  "Coises!" says I. "Deep coises!" and walks down eleven flights with atemperature that would have got me condemned by any boiler inspector inthe business. The candy? That goes to one of the pie-faced maids where Ilives.

  The nerve of that Izzy, though! In the mornin' he comes around just likenothin' had happened and wants to know if I'll sub. for him on hisevenin' job the night he goes to the ball. To show I don't carry anygrouch, I says I will; but he offers only half-pay and makes me agree tosplit the tips with him.

  "I couldn't afford it, at that," says he, "only this is a kid sessionand the graft will be light."

  It's this checkroom work of his, you know, at one of them swellFifth-ave. joints where they have an extra night force on call forcoming-out parties and dinner dances and the like. So, while him andTessie is enjoyin' themselves with the lady shirtwaist makers, I'mstandin' behind the counter wearin' a braided jacket, givin' out checkcoupons, and stowin' away hats and top-coats for Master Reginald andother buddin' sports of the younger set. Seems this is the final blowoutof Miss Somebody's afternoon dancin' class, and no one was allowedinside unless Father had his name printed in bright red ink in thesocial register.

  A hot lot of young gold spooners they was too; some of 'em not as old asme by a couple of years, and swellin' around in dinky Tuxes and whitekids. One of 'em even hands me in a silver-headed cane.

  "Careful of that stick, my man," says he.

  "Oh, sure!" says I. "Puppah'd be wild if anything happened to it,wouldn't he?"

  And you should have heard the talk they had as they loafs around thecloakroom between the numbers,--all about the awful things they did atprep school, how they bunked the masters, and smuggled brandied peachesup to their rooms, and rough-housed durin' mornin' prayers. Almost madeyour blood run cold--not.

  When they got to discussin' the girls, though, and sayin' how such a onewas a "jolly sort," and others was "bloomin' rotters," it made meseasick and it was a relief when they took to whisperin' things Icouldn't hear about the chaperons. After intermission they come sneakin'in by twos and threes to hit up their cigarettes.

  It was about eleven-thirty and there was four or five of 'em in thecloakroom, puffin' away languid like real clubmen, when in drifts ayoung lady all in pink silk and gold net and hails one of the wickedbunch.

  "Bobby," says she, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

  "Run on now, Vee," says he. "Told you when I asked you to come that Iwasn't a dancing man, y'know."

  "Fudge!" says she, stampin' her foot.
"You think it's smart to take thatpose, don't you? Well, you wait!"

  And, say, you talk about your haughty beauts! Why, she was a little thesilkiest young queen I ever had a real close view of,--the slimmest feetand ankles, reg'lar cameo-cut face all tinted up natural like a bunch ofsweet peas, and a lot of straw-colored hair as fine as cobwebs. She wasa thoroughbred stunner, this Miss Vee was, and mad all over.

  "I haven't been on the floor for four numbers," she goes on. "You justwait!"

  "You wouldn't be cad enough to peach on us for smokin', would you?" saysBobby.

  "Wouldn't I, though!" says she.

  That starts a stampede. All but Bobby chucks away their cigarettes andbeats it back to the ballroom. He turns sulky, though.

  "Tell ahead," says he. "Who cares? And let's see you get any moredances!"

  He's a pasty-faced, weak-jawed youth with a chronic scowl and a sullenlook in his eyes. I should say he was sixteen maybe, and the young ladya year older. She grips her fan hard and stands there starin' at him.I'm so much int'rested in the case that the first thing I know I'vebutted in with advice.

  "Ah, be nice, Claude!" says I. "Dance with the young lady. I would if Iwas you."

  And you can't guess how fussy a little remark like that gets Bobby boy.He almost swallows his cigarette from the jar he gets, being spoken toby a common cloakroom checker. First off he jumps up and stalks over tome real majestic and threatenin'.

  "You--you----How dare you?" he splutters out.

  "There, there!" says I. "Don't get bristle-spined over it. I wa'n'tofferin' any deadly insult, and if it makes you feel as bad as all thatI'll take it back."

  "I--I'll have you dismissed!" he growls.

  "Can't do it, Bobby," says I. "I'm no reg'lar tip-chaser. I'm hereincog.--doing it for a lark, y'know. Back to your corner, now! There's alady present."

  He glares at me for a minute or so, and then turns on the queen in pink."I hope you're satisfied, Vee," says he. "You would come in here,though! I can't help it if the attendants are insolent to you."

  "Pooh!" says Miss Vee. "The young man was only taking my part."

  "So?" sneers Bobbie. "I congratulate you on your new champion."

  "He acts more like a gentleman than you do, at any rate!" she fires backat him.

  "Does he?" says Bobby. "Then why don't you get him for a partner?"

  "G'WAN!" SAYS I, "IT'S A FAIR SWAP."]

  "If you don't ask me for this next waltz, I will," says she, tossin' upher chin.

  "What a bluff!" says Bobby. "Well, Miss Vee, I'm not going to ask you.Now!"

  Say, it was gettin' more or less personal by that time, and I waswonderin' just how the young lady was goin' to back out of theproposition that had been put up to her, when the first thing I knowshe's marchin' straight over to where I was.

  "Will you give me this next waltz?" says she.

  "Say," I gasps, "do you mean it?"

  "Certainly I do," says she. "You can dance, can't you?"

  "I don't know," says I; "but I can do an East Side spiel."

  "Good!" says she. "I know how to do that too. Come on."

  "In a minute," says I. "Just hold on until I borrow the younggentleman's evenin' coat."

  "Wha--what's that?" snorts Bobby.

  "You can be usin' mine for a smokin' jacket," says I. "Peel it off now,and let the fancy vest come along too!"

  "I--I won't do it!" says Bobbie.

  "Oh, yes, you will," says I, "or else you and me will be mixed up in arumpus that'll bring the chaperons and special cops in here on therun," and with that I proceeds to shed the braided coat and my blackvest.

  "You're insulting!" says Bobby, gettin' wild-eyed.

  "G'wan!" says I. "It's a fair swap. I'll leave it to the young lady."

  And when I'd sized her up for a thoroughbred I hadn't made any wildguess. There's a twinkle under them long eyelashes that's as good as ago-ahead signal.

  "Of course," says she. "It was you who suggested him as a partner,anyway. And hurry, Bobby, there goes the waltz!"

  "I--I----" he begins.

  "Ah, shuck 'em!" says I, startin' for him hasty.

  I expects it was the prospects of gettin' rung into a rough and tumble,and having to explain to mother, that changed Bobby's mind so sudden. Atany rate, inside of a minute more I'm wearin' the pearl-gray waistcoatand the silk-faced tuxedo, and out I sails onto the shiny floor of thegreen and gold ballroom with somebody's pink-costumed heiress hangin' tomy left arm.

  "One-two-three; one-two-three----Now!" says she, countin' out the timeso I shouldn't make any false start.

  But, say, I didn't need that. Course, I'm no cotillion leader, and aboutall the dancin' I ever done was at chowder parties or in the ConeyIsland halls; but who couldn't keep step to a tune like "Yip-I-Addy"played by a twelve-piece goulash orchestra, specially with such acrackerjack partner as Miss Vee was?

  Could we spiel together? Why, say, we just floats along over the waxedmaple boards like a pair of summer butterflies, pivotin' first one wayand then the other, dodgin' in and out among the couples, and givin' anexhibition that had any other performance on the floor lookin' like acripples' parade.

  First it got into my heels, and then it goes to my head. I didn't knowwhether I was waltzin', or havin' a joy ride with some biplane shuffer.I wa'n't sayin' a word in the way of language; but Miss Vee keeps up astring of chatter and giggles that's enough for both. You'd thought tosee us, I expect, that we was carryin' on a real, rapid-fire, smart-setdialogue, when all the while it was only her tellin' me how thediff'rent parties was actin' when they first spotted her on the floorwith a ringer, and how the chaperons were squintin' at us through theirlorgnettes, tryin' to make out who I was. And the greatest shock I everhad was when the music stopped and I fell about a mile down through rosyclouds.

  "Wait!" says Miss Vee, squeezin' my arm. "There'll be an encore. Myaunt's over there, and she's just wild; but it doesn't matter."

  "You're a good sport," says I, joinin' in the hand-clappin' to jog theorchestra into givin' us a repeat.

  And just as they starts up the tune again I happens to glance up intothe little visitors' balcony at the end of the ballroom. Who do youguess I sees watchin' us bug-eyed and open-mouthed? Why, Izzy Budheimerand Miss Tessie! See? They've broke away from the lady shirtwaistersdurin' the supper hour so Izzy can give his new girl a glimpse of what areal swell dance is like. Maybe he planned on stoppin' in at thecloakroom too, and seein' if I was holdin' down the job proper.

  Anyway, I can't blame him for doin' the open-face act when he discoversme out on the floor with the belle of the ball. But all I has time to dois send him up the chilly stare, and away we go again into anotherone-two-three dream--me and Miss Vee.

  "I don't care what becomes of me," she hums over my shoulder.

  "Me either," says I.

  "Silly boy!" says she. "What's your name?"

  "Just Torchy," says I, "after my hair."

  "I think curly red hair is cute," says she.

  "I could go hoarse sayin' things like that about you," says I.

  Maybe it was lucky, too, that this second installment was short, or Imight have gone clean mushy; for the way she could look at me out ofthem big gray eyes of hers was--well, it was the real thing in thrills.The wind-up came just as we gets around near the cloakroom door and westops.

  "It was awfully good of you," says she.

  "Gee!" says I. "Why, I could wear out all my old shoes doin' that, andif ever you need----"

  "S-s-sh!" says she. "Here comes my aunt!"

  Not waitin' for any further diagram of the situation, I makes a dashinto the cloakroom, where I finds Izzy Budheimer gazin' puzzled atBobby, who's sittin' tilted back in his shirt sleeves with the braidedcoat slung on the floor.

  "Look here, Torchy!" begins Izzy. "What the----"

  "On the job, Izzy, if you want to save it!" says I, wigglin' out ofMaster Bobby's expensive clothes and chuckin' 'em at him.

  "But why--what----" says Izzy, tr
yin' again.

  "Don't stop to ask fool questions of a busy society man," says I; "butjump into your uniform, get in your coop there, and prepare to put thetimelock on your conversation works. In about a minute there'll be adelegation of old hens in here lookin' for a mysterious young gent withincendiary hair who has disappeared. Your cue is to look innocent andnot know anything about it. See? If there's any explainin' to be done,let Bobby do it."

  "Oh, I say!" groans Bobby, jumpin' up, and by the time I've struck thebottom stair on my way out he's grabbed his overcoat and is beatin' itdown to find his carriage.

  How Miss Vee squared it with Aunty is a puzzle I never expect to findout the answer to; but I'll risk her. She's a pink queen, she is, andafter that one waltz with her I can look cold-eyed at a row of Tessiegirls stretchin' from here to the Battery!