Torchy

by Sewell Ford

  CHAPTER XII

  LANDING ON A SIDE STREET

  It was a little matter between me and Mother Sykes that starts me off tohunt a new boardin' place. Lovely old girl, Mother Sykes is, one of thekind that calls everybody "Deary" and collects in advance every Saturdaynight. She's got one of them inquisitive landlady noses that looks likeit was made for pryin' up trunk covers and pokin' into bureau drawers.

  That don't bother me any, though. It's only when I misses my swelloutfit, the one Benny had built for me to wear at his weddin', that Igets sore. Course, she'd only borrowed it for Pa Sykes to wear on aSunday afternoon call, him bein' a little runt of a gent, with wateryeyes and a red nose, that never does anything on his own hook. And if hehadn't denied it so brassy I shouldn't have called him down so hard,right in the front hall with half the roomers listenin'.

  "Dreamed it, eh, did I?" says I. "Well, listen here, Sykesy! Next time Ihas an optical illusion of you paradin' out in any of my uniform,there'll be doin's before the Sergeant!"

  Then Mother Sykes rushes up from the kitchen and saves the fam'ly honorby throwin' an indignation fit. I don't know how long it lasted; but shewas gettin' purple clear up under her false front when I slid out thedoor and left her at it. Next day I noticed the sign hung up; but Ididn't know which sky parlor was vacant until I strolls in atfive-fifteen Friday night and finds my things out in the hall and a newlodger in my room.

  "Oh, well," says I, "what's a sudden move now and then to a free lancelike me?"

  And as there ain't anybody in sight to register my fond farewells with,I gathers up my suitcase and laundry bag, chucks the latchkey on thestand in the front hall, and beats it. Not until I'm three blocks awaydoes I remember that all the cash I've got in my clothes is threequarters and a dime, which comes of my listenin' to Mallory's adviceabout soakin' my roll away in a bloomin' savings bank.

  "Looks like I'd spend the night in a Mills hotel," says I, "unless Ifind Mallory and make a touch."

  It was chasin' him up that fetches me over on the West Side and throughone of them nice, respectable, private-house blocks just below 14th-st.You know the kind, that begin at Fifth-ave. with a double-breasted oldbrownstone, and end at Sixth with a delicatessen shop.

  Well, I was moseyin' along quiet and peaceful, wonderin' how long sinceanything ever really happened in that partic'lar section, when all of asudden I feels about a cupful of cold water strike me in the back of theneck.

  "Wow!" says I. "Who's playin' me for a goat now?"

  With that I turns and inspects the windows of the house I'd just passed,knowin' it must be some kid gettin' gay with the passersby. There's nosigns of any cut-up concealed behind the lace curtains, though, and noneof the sashes was raised. If it hadn't been for the way things had beencomin' criss-cross at me, I suppose I'd wiped off my collar and gonealong, lettin' it pass as a joke; but I wa'n't feelin' very mirthfuljust then. I'm ready to follow up anything in the trouble line; so Isteps into the area, drops my baggage, shins up over the side of thefront steps, and flattens myself against the off side of the vestibuledoor. Then I waits.

  It ain't more'n a minute before I hears the door openin' cautious, andall I has to do is shove my foot out and throw my weight against theknob. Somebody lets out a howl of surprise, and in another minute I'minside, facin' a twelve-year-old kid armed with a green tin squirt gun.He's one of these aristocratic-lookin' youngsters, with silky lighthair, big dark eyes, and a sulky mouth. Also he's had somethin' of ascare thrown into him by being caught so unexpected; but some of hisnerve is still left.

  "You--you get out of here!" he snarls.

  "Not until you've had a dose of what you handed me, sonny," says I."Give it up now, Reggie boy!"

  "I won't!" says he. "I--I'll have you thrown out!"

  "You will, eh?" says I, makin' a rush for him.

  "O-o-o-oh, Aunty, Aunty!" he squeals, dashin' down the hall.

  Now, say, the way I was feelin' then, I'd have gone up against a wholefam'ly, big brothers included; so a little thing like a call for Auntydon't stop me at all. As he turns into the room on the left I'm only ajump behind, and all that fetches me up is when he does a dive behind anold lady in a big leather chair. She's a wide, heavy old party, with adinky white cap on her white hair, and kind of a resigned, patient lookon her face. Someway, she acts like she was more or less used tosurprises like this; for she don't seem much excited.

  "Why, Hadley!" she remarks. "Whatever is the matter now?"

  "He--he chased me into the house!" whines Master Hadley from behind thechair.

  "Did you?" says the old girl.

  "Sure," says I. "He's too blamed fresh!"

  "There, there!" says she. "You mustn't speak that way of Hadley. He isonly a little boy, you know."

  "Yes'm," says I.

  "And he was only indulging in innocent play," she goes on. "Come,Hadley, untie me now. Please, Hadley!"

  Say, I hadn't noticed it before, but the old girl is roped solid, feetand arms, to the chair legs, and it's clear that when nobody was goin'by for little Hadley to shoot at he'd been usin' Aunty for a target. Thedamp spots on the wall behind the chair and one or two on her dressshowed that.

  "I won't, unless you'll call Maggie and have her throw him out!" growlsHadley.

  "Oh, come, Hadley, be a good boy!" coaxes Aunty.

  "Sha'n't!" says Hadley. "And next time I'll shoot ink at you."

  "Now, Hadley!" protests Aunty.

  "Excuse me, lady," says I, "but it looks to me like there was somethingcomin' to Hadley that I ought to tend to. This ain't on my account,either, but yours. Now watch. Hi, freshy!" and I makes another dash forhim.

  Well, he knows the lay of the land better'n I do, and he's quick on thedodge, so we has a lively time of it for a couple of minutes, himthrowin' chairs in my way and hurdlin' sofas, Aunty beggin' us to quitand callin' for Maggie, and me keepin' right on the job. But at last Igot him cornered. He makes a desp'rate duck and tries to butt me; but Icatches his head under my arm and down he goes on the rug. I'd justyanked the squirt gun out of his hand and was emptyin' it down the backof his neck, with him hollerin' blue murder, and Aunty strugglin' to getloose, when the front door opens and in walks a couple of ladies, oneold and the other young.

  And, say, you talk about your excitin' tableaux! In about two shakesthere's all kinds of excitement; for it seems one of the new arrivals isHadley's mommer, and she proceeds to join the riot.

  "Oh, my darling boy! My darling!" she sings out. "What is happening! Heis being killed! Oh, he is being killed!"

  "G'wan!" says I, gettin' up and exhibitin' the squirt gun. "I was onlyhandin' him some of the same sport he's been dealin' out to others.It'll do him good."

  "You--you young scoundrel!" says mommer. Then, turnin' to the old ladywho came in with her, she gasps out, "Zenobia, telephone for thepolice!"

  It's the real thing, too, and no flossy bluff about the lady's grouch.She's a swell, haughty-lookin' party, and she acts like she was used tohavin' her own way about things. So the prospects begin to look squally.Not that I'm one to curl up and shiver at sight of a cop. Give me plentyof room to do the hotfoot act, and I don't mind guyin' any of thempavement-pounders; but with me shut up in a house where I hadn't beeninvited in, and a bunch of excited females as witnesses against me, it'sa diff'rent proposition. This was no time to weaken, though.

  "Go ahead," says I. "Double six-O-four-two Gramercy; that's the greenlight number for this district. And Uncle Patrick'll be glad to see you.Tell him you got charges to make on his nephew. That'll tickle him todeath. Maybe I'll have something to say when we all get there, too."

  "What do you mean?" says Hadley's mother.

  "Counter complaint, that's all," says I. "Your little darling soaked mefirst."

  "It--it isn't true!" says she. "I don't believe it!"

  And here Zenobia comes in with the soothin' advice. She's anotherwhitehaired old lady, lookin' something like the one in the chair, onlynot so bulky and with more ginger about
her. "Now, Sally," says she,"let's not talk of calling in the police over a trifle. Hadley doesn'tappear to be hurt, and possibly he was somewhat at fault."

  "The idea!" says Sally. "Why, I saw this young ruffian pommeling him.And look! Martha is bound in her chair. He's a burglar!"

  Oh, they had a great debate amongst 'em, Aunt Martha fin'lly admittin'it was just a little prank of Hadley's, her being roped down; but shewas sure I had tried to murder him, just for nothing at all. Hadley saysso too. In fact, he tells seven diff'rent yarns in as many minutes, eachone makin' me out worse than the last.

  "There!" says his mother. "Now, Zenobia, will you send for an officer?"

  Nope, Zenobia wouldn't; anyway, not until she had more facts to go on.She don't deny that maybe I'm kind of a suspicious-lookin' character,and says it ain't been explained what I was doin' in there holdin'little Hadley on the rug; but she don't want to ring up the cops unlessit's a clear case.

  "You know, my dear," she winds up with, "Hadley is quite apt to get intotrouble."

  "Zenobia Preble!" snorts Sally, her eyes blazin'. "And he your own fleshand blood! Come, precious, mother will take you home, and you shallnever, never come to this house again!"

  "There, Sally," begins Zenobia, "don't fly into a----"

  "When my husband's mother chooses to insult me in her own home," saysSally, "I hope I have spirit enough to resent it!"

  Say, she had that and some left over. Inside of two minutes she'shustled little Hadley into his things, and out they sails to hercarriage, leavin' the makin's of a first-class fam'ly row all prepared.

  In the meantime Zenobia is tyin' Aunt Martha loose, and I'm standin'around waitin' to see what's goin' to happen to me next. Course, Iexpects the third degree; but she begins with Martha.

  "Now what mischief was Hadley up to this time?" she asks.

  And Martha sticks to it that it was nothing at all. He merely found thatold plant-sprayer and discovered that by unscrewing the nozzle it made afine squirt gun. To be sure, she had asked him not to use the water fromthe goldfish globe; but he just would. Also he'd insisted on locking allthe servants downstairs, and when she tried to amuse him in other wayshe'd tied her to the chair.

  But it was just Hadley's innocent fun. He hadn't harmed anyone, even ifhe did squirt a little water on the postman and a delivery boy. She hadnot minded it herself, and no one had been rude to him until I'd comechasing in and handled him so rough. That was an outrage, and Marthathought I ought to get a life sentence for it.

  "Humph!" says Zenobia, turnin' to me. "Now, young man, what have you gotto say?"

  "Ah, what's the use?" says I. "You've got the whole story now. I'd dothe same again."

  "Relying on the fact that your uncle is a police captain?" says she.

  "Nah," says I. "That was hot air."

  "There, Zenobia!" says Martha. "I told you he was a bad boy."

  "Are you?" says Zenobia.

  "Well," says I, "that all depends on how you size me up. I ain't in thecrook class, nor I don't wear any Sunday-school medals, either."

  "Who are you?" says she.

  "Why, just Torchy," says I. "See--torch, Torchy," and I points to mysunset coiffure.

  "But who are your parents?" she goes on.

  "Don't own any," says I. "I'm a double orphan and rustlin' for myself."

  "Where do you live?" says she.

  "Why," says I, "I don't live anywhere just now. I'm movin'; but I don'tknow where to."

  "I suppose that is either impudence or epigram," says she; "but nevermind. Perhaps you will tell me where you work?"

  "I don't work at all," says I. "I'm head office boy for the CorrugatedTrust, and it's a cinch job."

  "Indeed!" says she. "The Corrugated Trust? Let me see, who is at thehead of that concern?"

  "Say," says I, "you don't mean you never heard of Old Hickory Ellins orMr. Robert, do you?"

  She kind of smiles at that; but dodges makin' any answer.

  "Well," says I, "do I get pinched, or just given the run? Either way,I've got some baggage down by the area door that ought to be lookedafter."

  "Why, certainly, I will have it----" then she stops and looks me oversort of shrewd. "Suppose," she starts in again, "you go and get ityourself?"

  "Sure!" says I, and it ain't until I'm outside that I sees this is justher way of tryin' me out; for I has a fine chance to beat it. "Nix!"thinks I. "I might as well see this thing through and get a decision."So back I goes with the suitcase and laundry bag. She hadn't evenfollowed me to the door.

  "Ah!" says she, lookin' up. "You weren't afraid to come back, then.Why?"

  "Oh, I guess it was because I banked on your givin' me a square deal,"says I.

  That gets a grin out of her. "Thank you very much for the compliment,"says she. "I may say that the inquisition is over. However, I shouldlike to have you remain a little longer, if you care to. Won't you leaveyour things in the hall there? Your hat and overcoat too."

  "Zenobia," says Martha, wakin' up, "surely you are not going to----"

  "Precisely," says Zenobia. "I am going to ask him to stay for dinnerwith us. Will you?"

  "Yep!" says I. "I never let any free eats get by me."

  "But," gasps Martha, "you don't know who he is?"

  "Neither does he know us," says Zenobia. "Torchy, I am Mrs. ZenobiaPreble. This is my sister, Miss Martha Hadley. She is very good, I amvery wicked, and we are both women of mature years. You will probablyfind our society rather dull; but the dinner is likely to be fairlygood. Besides, I am feeling somewhat indebted to you."

  "It's a go," says I, "if I can have a chance to wash up first."

  "Of course," says she. Then she gives me a key and directions how tofind a certain door on the third floor. "My son's quarters," she goeson, "that I have kept just as he left them twenty years ago. I shallexpect you to make yourself quite at home there."

  Do I? Why, say, it's a back joint such as you might dream about: tworooms and bath across the front of the house, guns and swords and suchknickknacks on the walls, a desk, a lot of books, and even a bathrobeand slippers laid out. Say, while I was scrubbin' off some of theinkstains and smoothin' down my hair with the silver-backed brushes Ifelt like a young blood gettin' ready for a party.

  Then after awhile I strolls down to the lib'ry and makes myself to homesome more. It's a comf'table place, with lots of big easy-chairs, nicepictures on the wall, and no end of bookshelves. The old ladies hascleared out, not even lockin' up any of the curios or sendin' a maid towatch me.

  And when it comes to the feed--why, say, it's a reg'lar course dinner,such as you'd put up a dollar for at any of these high-class table dottyranches. Funny old china they had too, and a big silver coffeepot righton the table. The only bad break I makes is just at the start, when Idives into the soup without noticin' that Aunt Martha has her head downand is mumblin' something about bein' thankful.

  "Never mind," says Mrs. Preble. "We aren't included in this, anyway."

  That begins the talk. I ain't put through the wringer, you understand,but just follows Zenobia while she goes from one thing to another,givin' her opinions of 'em and now and then callin' for mine. We gotreal chatty too, and once in awhile she stops to laugh real hearty,though I couldn't see where I'd got off any crack at all.

  Near as I can make out, Zenobia is a lively old girl for her age. She'sseen all the best Broadway shows, knows what's goin' on in town, andreads the papers reg'lar. Also it comes out that she don't follow thekind of programme you generally look for antiques to stick to. She ain'tgot any use for churches, charity institutions, society, or thesuffragettes. All of which seems to shock Sister Martha, who don't saymuch, but only shudders now and then.

  "You see, Torchy," says Zenobia, droppin' two lumps into her demitasse,"I am an unbeliever. I don't even believe in growing old. When I hear ofother persons who have come to disbelieve in established things, nomatter what, I send for them and find out all about it across the dinnertable. We discuss art, religion, politics,
goodness knows what. Wedenounce things, from the existing social order, to the tariff onstockings. My sister, who believes in everything as it is, usually takesa nap and snores."

  "Zenobia!" says Martha.

  "Oh, not in a disturbing way," says Zenobia. "And I'm sure I almost dothe same whenever your friend the rector is here. Torchy, have you everbeen talked to about your soul?"

  "Once when I drifted into a mission a guy sprung that on me," says I.

  "Yes?" says Zenobia. "What then?"

  "I told him to go chase himself," says I.

  Hearty chuckles from Zenobia, while Sister Martha turns pale and gasps.

  Next thing I know I'm tellin' Mrs. Preble about my fallin' out withMother Sykes, and how I guess I'd better be pikin' up to engage athirty-cent room until I can draw on my reserve and locate a newboardin' place.

  And, say, what do you guess that conversation leads up to? Well, itstruck me all in a heap at the time, though I didn't let on; but Icouldn't figure out the answer until I'd had a talk with Mr. Robert nextday.

  "Say, Mr. Robert," says I. "You don't happen to know an old party by thename of Zenobia Preble, do you?"

  "I do," says he. "It isn't exactly an accident, either. She is a cousinof my father."

  "Gee!" says I. "Cousin to the old--to the boss! Wh-e-ew!"

  "Rather an original old lady, Zenobia," says Mr. Robert. "And Iunderstand, from a talk I had with her over the 'phone early lastevening, that she was arbitrating the case of a young man who was insome danger of arrest in her home. How did it come out, Torchy?"

  "Ah, say, you're on, ain't you?" says I. "Well, it was a verdict for thedefense, because I promised to do it again if I ever got the chance."

  Mr. Robert grins. "That grandson of hers is certainly a holy terror,"says he. "You and Zenobia parted friends, then?"

  "Not yet," says I. "We ain't parted at all. I'm stayin' as a trialboarder."

  "What!" says he, sittin' up. "Oh, I see. An experiment in practicalsociology, eh?"

  "Maybe that's it," says I. "Anyway, it depends on whether or not I canstand Aunt Martha."

  And when I leaves Mr. Robert he still has his mouth open.