by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER XIII
FIRST AID FOR THE MAIN STEM
Well, I ain't been adopted yet; but it's the next thing to it. Me andZenobia are gettin' to understand each other better every day. And, say,for a ripe old party, she's younger in her mind than lots of folks Iknow who ain't lived half so long. Maybe she did do her first travelin'up and down Broadway in a horse stage; but that ain't the way she wantsto cover the ground now. What do you think she springs at the dinnertable the other night? Says she's goin' to the next aviation meet andhire some one to take her up for an aeroplane ride.
"Why, Zenobia!" says Sister Martha, so shocked her white frizzes almoststand up and wiggle.
That's Martha's cue, all right. She don't seem to get used to Zenobia'sways, although they've been livin' together all these years. A genuine,consistent antique, Sister Martha is, who still likes to talk about thetime when Horace Greeley ran for President. Accordin' to herconversation the last real sensation that came her way was when shewent over to Brooklyn and heard Henry Ward Beecher preach.
But even Martha ain't no worse when you get to know her. She's aharmless, well meanin' old soul, and I'm 'most beginnin' to believeshe's pretty near as pious as she thinks she is. Anyway, it ain't anySunday pose with her. She lugs her religion right through the week,holidays and all, and spreads it around even. I got it straight fromZenobia that Martha's even begun ringin' me into her goodnight prayers,along with the cook and the President.
Also Martha has started in on what she calls my moral trainin', whichshe dopes out as havin' been neglected somethin' shameful. WheneverZenobia ain't around to interrupt, I get a Jonah story, or a Sampson andDelilah hair cuttin' yarn pumped into me, and if there ain't any cogsmissin' in her scheme I ought to be buddin' a soul before long.
"Torchy," says she real solemn the other night, "I hope you do not useprofane language. Do you?"
"Well," says I, "when I was on the Sunday editor's door I did used tothink I could put over a few gingery ones; but since I've been with theCorrugated Trust I've kind of got out of practice."
"Ah!" says she, beamin'. "That is good, very good! Your associationsare better; is that it?"
"Mainly it's on account of Mr. Ellins," says I. "Maybe you neverhappened to hear him; but, say, you ought to be there some mornin' whenhe limps in with the gout in both feet and a hang-over grouch from theday before! Cuss! Why, after listenin' to him grow real enthusiasticonce, I got discouraged. What's the use? thinks I."
Well, someway that gives Martha an awful jolt; for maybe you remember mytellin' how it turns out that her and Zenobia are second cousins to OldHickory. She says how she's pained and mortified beyond words to learnthat Mr. Ellins should allow his employees to hear him use suchlanguage.
"Ah, that's all right," says I. "As long as it ain't fired at 'em,nobody feels bad. Mostly they grins, except now and then a new ladytypewriter who squirms and turns pale. He don't whisper when he'scussin', Mr. Ellins don't."
"Shocking!" says Sister Martha. "Does--does he do this often?"
"It all depends on how he's feelin'," says I; "but for the past week orten days he's been at it pretty reg'lar. I expect he's been havin' aworse siege than usual."
Oh, me and Martha had a real heart to heart talk that night, and when Ifin'lly goes up to my top floor suite I leaves her fannin' herself andgaspin' for breath. But she'd asked for facts, and I'd handed 'em over.How was I to guess what was goin' to be the follow up on that?
Not expectin' anything more'n instructions about some errand or other, Iain't any disturbed when Piddie comes up to the gate desk right afterlunch next day, lookin' as stern and solemn as if he'd been sent to reada warrant.
"Boy," says he, "Mr. Ellins, senior, wishes to see you in his privateoffice!"
"Well, that ain't surprisin', is it, Piddie?" says I. "You don't supposewe can talk over big affairs like ours out here, do you? Keep your earoff the keyhole, too!" And with that I goes in chipper and cheerful.
The minute I gets through the last door, though, I feels the frost inthe air. Mr. Ellins, he lets me wait long enough for the chill to strikein, while he signs a basketful of letters. Then he swings around in hisswivel chair and proceeds to size me up through them gunmetal gray eyesof his. Say, it was like standin' in front of a searchlight and under acold shower, all at once.
"So, young man!" says he. "You have been hearing me swear, eh?"
That's enough for me. Just from that I can sketch the whole plot. Andit don't take me a month to figure out the line of talk I'm goin' touse. What's the sense in playin' for time when your blue ticket's allmade out.
"Heard you?" says I. "Think I wear my ears full of putty?"
"Huh!" he grunts. "And do I understand that you disapprove of myprofanity?"
"Ah, who's been fillin' you up?" says I. "Why, you're an artist at it."
"Thanks," says he. "And I suppose you felt it your duty to inform myrelatives of the fact? Very thoughtful of you, I'm sure."
"Don't mention it," says I.
"You--you're an impertinent young whelp!" says he, his cheeks gettin'purple and puffy.
"Ah, don't mind the frills," says I. "Get out the can. I'm fired, ain'tI?"
"No!" he shouts, bangin' his fist down on the desk. "At least, not untilI get through with you. What I want to know is why in blue belted blazesyou did it!"
"Well," says I, "first off I guess it just naturally slipped out; then,when I saw what a hit I was makin' with Martha--why, I expect I sort ofenjoyed givin' her the details."
Somehow, that seems to graze his funnybone, and he has a struggle tokeep a grin out of his mouth corners. "Humph!" says he. "I--I'd like tohave seen her then. So you went on to describe the general state of myhealth, did you?"
"It was you we was chattin' about," says I.
"Fascinating topic, I've no doubt," he growls; "but I hardly appreciatethe attention. Understand?"
"That's breakin' on me gradual," says I.
"Fortunately for you, though," he goes on, "you didn't attempt to lieout of it. By the way, why didn't you?"
"And her just after givin' you the whole game over the 'phone?" says I."Ah, say!"
"Young man," says he, shootin' over the quizzin' gaze, "either you aretoo blickety blinked fresh to keep, or else you're too keen to lose;hanged if I know which! But--er--well, I'll take a chance. You may goout and report to Mr. Piddie for duty."
"It'll near break his heart," says I.
It does, too. I expect from what he'd heard in the private office thathe was figurin' on handin' me my hat as I was shot out and remarkin'that he knew all along it was comin' to me. Then there'd be a rollcallof new office boys, with him pickin' out one more to his taste than me.But no such luck for him.
"Cheer up, Piddie," says I. "I'll have the warden send you an invitationwhen they fin'lly get me right."
Course, I don't make any squeal at the house about my narrow escape; forI knew Martha only meant it for the best. Next day Mr. Ellins don't showup at the office at all, and that evenin' Martha is better posted on hiscondition than I am. She's been busy on the wire again, this timelocatin' him at home.
"My poor cousin," says she, "is in a wretched state. He has beenoverworking, I fear, and seems to be a nervous wreck. That will account,I have no doubt, for his recent lapses into profanity. He feels ratherashamed of himself; but perhaps I should make allowances. What he needsis rest and quiet. Luckily, I happened to know just the place for himand was able to persuade him to go there at once. He started thisafternoon."
It's called the Wesley Restorium, Martha says, and is run by an oldfriend of hers who used to be a missionary doctor in China. He's anawfully good man, and she's sure he'll help Mr. Ellins a lot. Besides,his place is only about fifty miles off, over in North Jersey; so Mr.Ellins could make the run easy in his limousine.
Well, that leaves only Mr. Robert, Piddie, and me to manage theCorrugated, and we was all bearin' up under the load well enough exceptPiddie; when along about two o'clock there's a long distan
ce call fromthe Main Stem, and a few minutes later Mr. Robert sends out for me.
"Torchy," says he, "you seem to be elected. The governor wants you."
"Me?" says I.
"Yes," says Mr. Robert. "I don't exactly understand why. He is at asanatorium, you know, and we had arranged to send up his privatesecretary with the important mail this afternoon; but he says he wantsyou. Says you're responsible for his being there--whatever that means."
"I'm on," says I. "When do I start?"
There's a train at three-thirty-four; so that gives me time to chasearound to the house after a grip, then back to the office to gather up abundle of late letters, and pike for Jersey City. And at that it's fiveo'clock before I'm landed at a little flag station umpteen miles beyondnowhere. My! but the north end of Jersey has some up and down to it,though! From what I'd heard I thought the State was all meadows; buthere I am carted in a four-horse bus up the side of a hill that's twiceas tall as the Metropolitan tower.
Say, I never saw so much country spread out all at once before--nothingbut hills and trees, and no signs of houses anywhere. Made me so blamedlonesome lookin' at it that I had to shut my eyes for a spell. And whenwe gets to the top there's a big shack like a new set of car barns,with hundreds of windows, and big wide veranda all around. It looks ashomy and cheerful as the Art Museum. The lawn is full of rocks andstumps, and the few little flowerbeds that have been laid out lookedlost and homesick.
Pacin' up and down the verandas, like animals in a cage, was about fiftypeople, and over at one end, all by himself, looms up Old Hickory,lookin' big and ugly and disgusted with life.
"Well!" he growls. "So you got here, eh? Hope you like it as well as Ido. Bring that mail inside."
While he's more or less grouchy, he don't act any more like a nervouswreck than usual. I take it that he was some tired when he got up herenight before; but that he cut out dinner and turned in for a goodtwelve-hour snooze instead. Then he's had a quiet day, and I judge hewas a lot better already.
He's just got well into his letters, when an attendant guy in a whiteduck uniform steps in and taps him on the shoulder.
"Well?" says Old Hickory.
"Vesper service is beginning in the chapel, sir," says the gent.
"Let it begin, then," says Mr. Ellins.
"But," says the gent, "it is usual for guests to----"
"It isn't for me!" snaps Mr. Ellins. "You get out!"
And the gent got out.
We could hear 'em singin' hymns and so on for half an hour; but Mr.Ellins keeps right on goin' through his mail and makin' notes on theenvelops until six o'clock, when a big gong rings.
"Thank heaven! Dinner!" says he. "Come on, Torchy; I'm hungry enough toeat a bale of hay!" Then he's hardly got into his chair in the dinin'room before he's snapping his fingers for a waiter. "Hey!" he sings out."Bring me a dry Martini right away, and a pint of Chateau Yquem with thefish."
"Excuse me," says the waiter, "but there isn't anything like that on thebill of fare. If it's something to drink you want, you can orderbuttermilk, which is extra."
"Buttermilk!" snorts Old Hickory. "Say, where's the proprietor? Send himover here!"
He didn't have to call him twice; for the boss of the Restorium hadheard the row and was glidin' our way as fast as his rubber heels wouldlet him. He's a short legged, pop eyed, red faced party, wearin' cutewhite side whiskers, a black Prince Albert, and a minister's necktie.
"Gently, gently," says he, pattin' the air with his hands and puckeringhis mouth. "Remember to speak softly in the dining room."
"All right, Doc," says Mr. Ellins; "but I want a cocktail."
"Tut, tut, brother!" says the Doc, liftin' a warnin' finger and raisin'his eyebrows. "No intoxicating liquors served here, you know. Now aglass of nice buttermilk is just what----"
"Bah! Buttermilk!" snorts Hickory. "Think I come from a dairy?"
The Doc does his best to soothe him down and fin'lly persuades him totackle his mutton broth without the Martini. It's a good enough feed;but kind of plain, about what you'd get in one of these Eighth-ave.joints, four courses for thirty-five cents. Mr. Ellins gets left againwhen he calls for a demitasse after the tapioca pudding. Nothing doingin the coffee line.
"Huh!" he grunts. "I suppose I may smoke, eh?"
"On the north veranda, from seven until eight-fifteen," says the waiter.
"Well, I'll be--blistered!" says Old Hickory.
While he's burnin' a couple of black perfectos out on the smokereservation, I roams around the Restorium. It's furnished neat andsimple, with lots of varnished woodwork and a few framed railroad photoson the walls. In the parlor was four or five groups of women in rockin'chairs, talkin' low and doin' fancy-work. Most of the men were tiptoein'up and down the veranda. They was a stoop shouldered, dyspeptic lookin'lot. Down in the basement in a place labeled "Recreation Room," a coupleof checker games was in progress, and four gents was shovin' weights upand down the shuffleboard. Yes, it was a perfectly good place to bequiet in. I could guess why Hickory Ellins had begun to show signs ofbein' restless. By eight o'clock he comes marchin' in and up to theoffice desk.
"Where's the billiard room?" says he.
"There is no billiard room, brother," says the Doc, steppin' to thefront. "Here we have eliminated all of those things that might disturbour beautiful peace and quiet."
"Have, eh?" grunts Hickory. "Then where can I find three others to makeup a bridge game?"
"Card playing," says the Doc, putting his thumb and forefingerstogether, "is not allowed in the Restorium."
"Sorrowing sisters by the sea!" remarks Mr. Ellins. "No billiards! Nocards! Say, what the merry Mithridates do you think I'm going to do withmyself from now until twelve o'clock, eh?"
"By referring to the rules of this establishment, Mr. Ellins," says theDoc, speakin' cold and reprovin', "you will see that the generalretiring hour is fixed at nine-thirty. At nine-forty-five the gas is allturned off."
"What!" roars Hickory. "Think you're going to put me to bed atnine-thirty?"
"You are at liberty to sit up in the dark, if you choose," the Doc comesback at him. "Any guest who is dissatisfied with the manner in which theRestorium is conducted has the option of leaving."
"Well, say!" says Mr. Ellins, thumpin' the desk earnest, "I amdissatisfied! Buttermilk and vesper services! Huh! Do you suppose I'vepaid two weeks in advance for such a dose? Where's your 'phone?"
With that he calls up New York, gets his chauffeur on the wire, andorders him to have the car here first thing in the morning, even if hehas to start before light.
"And what is more," says Mr. Ellins, walkin' back to the Doc, "I proposeto buy the rest of this hill and open a real live hotel as close to yourplace as I can put it. There'll be something going on in it all thetime, if I have to make everything free, and you can bet your lastdollar the wine list will have something besides buttermilk on it!There'll be billiard tables, bowling alleys, a dance hall, and a brassband playing all night. I'll fix your beautiful peace and quiet foryou!"
The Doc, he smiles a kind of sanctified smile and points to the clock."In just forty-five minutes," says he, "the lights go out."
That's all the satisfaction Mr. Ellins gets, too; so he takes me in towand we beat it 'steen times around the verandas, him stating hisopinions of restoriums in general, Cousin Martha in partic'lar, and nowand then shootin' a sarcastic remark at me. But when he sees the othervictims begin sneakin' off one by one he growls out:
"Well, son, I suppose they'll be locking us out if we don't follow suit.Get the keys to our rooms."
First off I thought I could have a great snooze; but it's such a blamedquiet place that I found myself wide awake, with my ear strained to seeif I couldn't hear something. After an hour or so of that, I gets up andsits by the open window; but as there ain't any moon or any streetlights, it's like starin' down a coalhole.
I was wondering if the country was always as black as that at night, andwhat would happen to anyone that strayed o
ut into it, when all of asudden I hears a window raised, and way down in the basement under thedining room I sees a bright light shinin' out. "Hello!" thinks I. "Someof the help must be bustin' the rules and regulations."
By leanin' out and rubberin' I could look down into the room. And, say,the shock almost tumbled me out. For there's the Doc sittin' in hisshirtsleeves with four other gents around a green topped table decoratedwith stacks of chips. The Doc is just dealin', and before the shade ispulled down again I had time to see him reach under the lower deck andhaul up a decanter that might have been full of cold tea.
Well, say, I don't do a thing but hustle into my clothes and chase downthe corridor to Mr. Ellins' room. Is he int'rested in the tale? He's allof that.
"Torchy," says he, "if you can lead me down to that game, I--I'llforgive you. Perhaps I'll do better than that."
I used up half a box of matches findin' the way; but at last we locatedthe light comin' through the transom.
"Good work!" he whispers. "Now you go back to bed and enjoy a longnight's rest."
Sure I did--not. I wouldn't have missed hearin' that exchange of happygreetin's for a farm. And the way the Doc chokes up and splutters tryin'to explain things was somethin' lovely. He was gettin' himself astwisted as a pretzel, when Old Hickory breaks in.
"That's all right, Doc," says he. "Innocent little relaxation. Iunderstand perfectly. Now, what's the ante?"
Well, after that the conversation wasn't so excitin'; nothing but, "I'lltake three cards," or "Raise you two more blues." So I sneaks back andfalls into the hay once more.
At breakfast Mr. Ellins shows up more smilin' and chipper than I'd everseen him anywhere before. He puts away three soft boiled eggs, a coupleof lamb chops, and two cups of coffee made special for him. The Doc hefollows us out to the limousine.
"Sorry to have you go so soon, Mr. Ellins," says he, rubbin' one handover the other, "very sorry indeed, sir. And--er--about those memorandafrom my assistants. I will see that they are redeemed, you know."
"Those I O U's?" says Mr. Ellins. "Oh, you tell the boys I tore 'em up.Yours, too, Doctor. I had my fun out of the game. So long."
And for the next four miles Old Hickory don't do much but gaze out onthe landscape and chuckle.
"Was that a bluff about buildin' that hotel?" says I after awhile.
"Well," says Mr. Ellins, "not exactly; but I think I shall present theRestorium with a pipe organ instead."