Torchy and Vee
Sewell Ford
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
TORCHY AND VEE
BYSEWELL FORDAUTHOR OF TORCHY, THE HOUSE OF TORCHY, SHORTY McCABE, Etc.
GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
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Copyright, 1918, 1919, by SEWELL FORDCopyright, 1919, BY EDWARD J. CLODEAll rights reserved
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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FOREWORD
In the Nature of an Alibi
Some of these stories were written while the Great War was still on. Sothe setting and local coloring and atmosphere and all that sort ofthing, such as it is, came from those strenuous days when we heroiccivilians read the war extras with stern, unflinching eye, bought asmany Liberty bonds as we were told we should, and subscribed to variousdrives as cheerfully as we might. Have you forgotten your reactions of afew short months ago? Perhaps then, these may revive your memory of someof them.
You may note with disappointment that Torchy got no nearer to thefront-line trenches than Bridgeport, Conn. That is a sentiment thewriter shares with you. But the blame lies with an overcautiousgovernment which hesitated, perhaps from super-humane reasons, fromturning loose on a tottering empire a middle-aged semi-literary personwho was known to handle a typewriter with such reckless abandon. Andwhere he could not go himself he refused to send another. So Torchyremained on this side, and whether or not his stay was a total loss isfor you to decide. S. F.
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Quick Shunt for Puffy 1 II. Old Hickory Bats Up One 19 III. Torchy Pulls the Deep Stuff 37 IV. A Frame-up for Stubby 56 V. The Vamp in the Window 73 VI. Turkeys on the Side 91 VII. Ernie and His Big Night 108 VIII. How Babe Missed His Step 126 IX. Hartley and the G. O. G.'s 145 X. The Case of Old Jonesey 164 XI. As Lucy Lee Passed By 182 XII. Torchy Meets Ellery Bean 200 XIII. Torchy Strays from Broadway 222 XIV. Subbing for the Boss 238 XV. A Late Hunch for Lester 256 XVI. Torchy Tackles a Mystery 272 XVII. With Vincent at the Turn 290
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TORCHY AND VEE
CHAPTER I
THE QUICK SHUNT FOR PUFFY
I must say I didn't get much excited at first over this Marion Graytragedy. You see, I'd just blown in from Cleveland, where I'd beenshunted by the Ordnance Department to report on a new motor kitchen. Andafter spendin' ten days soppin' up information about a machine that wasa cross between a road roller and an owl lunch wagon, and fillin' mysystem with army stews cooked on the fly, I'm suddenly called off.Someone at Washington had discovered that this flying cook-stove thingwas a problem for the Quartermaster's Department, and wires me to dropit.
So I was all for enjoyin' a little fam'ly reunion, havin' Vee tell mehow she's been gettin' along, and what cute little tricks young MasterRichard had developed while I'm gone. But right in the midst of ourintimate little domestic sketch Vee has to break loose with this outsidesigh stuff.
"I can't help thinking about poor Marion," says she.
"Eh?" says I, lookin' up from the crib where young Snookums has justsettled himself comfortable and decided to tear off a few more hours ofslumber. "Which Marion?"
"Why, Marion Gray," says she.
"Oh!" says I. "The old maid with the patient eyes and the sad smile?"
"She is barely thirty," says Vee.
"Maybe," says I; "but she's takin' it hard."
"Who wouldn't?" says Vee.
And havin' got that far, I saw I might as well let her get the wholestory off her chest. She's been seein' more and more of this Marion Grayperson ever since we moved out here to Harbor Hills. Kind of a plump,fresh-colored party, and more or less bright and entertainin' in herchat when she was in the right mood. I'd often come in and found Veechucklin' merry over some of the things Miss Gray had been tellin' her.And while she was at our house she seemed full of life and pep. Just thesort that Vee gets along with best. She was the same whenever we met herup at the Ellinses. But outside of that you never saw her anywhere. Shewasn't in with the Country Club set, and most of the young married crowdseemed to pass her up too.
I didn't know why. Guess I hadn't thought much about it. I knew she'dlost her father and mother within the last year or so, so I expect I putit down to that as the reason she wasn't mixin' much.
But Vee has all the inside dope. Seems old man Gray had been a chronicinvalid for years. Heart trouble. And durin' all the last of it he'dbeen promisin' to check out constant, but had kept puttin' it off.Meanwhile Mrs. Gray and Marion had been fillin' in as day and nightnurses. He'd been a peevish, grouchy old boy, too, and the more waitin'on he got the more he demanded. Little things. He had to have his foodcooked just so, the chair cushions adjusted, the light just right. Hehad to be read to so many hours a day, and played to, and sung to. Hecouldn't stand it to be alone, not for half an hour. Didn't want tothink, he said. Didn't want to see the women folks knittin' orcrocheting: he wanted 'em to be attending to him all the while. He had alittle silver bell that he kept hung on his chair arm, and when he rangit one or the other of 'em had to jump. Maybe you know the kind.
Course, the Grays traveled a lot; South in the winter, North insummer--always huntin' a place where he'd feel better, and never findin'it. If he was at the seashore he'd complain that they ought to be in themountains, and when they got there it wouldn't be a week before he haddecided the air was bad for him. They should have known better than totake him there. Most likely one more week would finish him. Another longrailroad trip would anyway. So he might as well stay. But wouldn'tMarion see the landlord and have those fiendish children kept quiet onthat tennis court outside? And wouldn't Mother try to make an eggnogthat didn't taste like a liquid pancake!
Havin' been humorin' his whims a good deal longer than Marion, and notbeing very strong herself, Mrs. Gray finally wore out. And almost beforethey knew anything serious was the matter she was gone. Then it all fellon Marion. Course, if she'd been a paid nurse she never would have stoodfor this continuous double-time act. Or if there was home inspectors,same as there are for factories, the old man would have been jacked upfor violatin' the labor laws. But being only a daughter, there's nobodyto step in and remind him that slavery has gone out of style and that inmost states the female of the species was gettin' to be a reg'larperson. In fact, there was few who thought Marion was doin' any more'nshe had a right to do. Wasn't he her father, and wasn't he payin' allthe bills?
"To be sure," adds Vee, "he didn't realize what an old tyrant he was.Nor did Marion. She considered it her duty, and never complained."
"Then I don't see who could have crashed in," said I.
"No one could," said Vee. "That was the pity."
And it seems for the last couple of years the old boy insisted onsettlin' down in his home here, where he could shuffle off comfortable.He'd been mighty slow about it, though, and when he finally headed Westit was discovered that, through poor managin' and war conditions, theincome they'd been livin' on had shrunk considerable. The fine old housewas left free and clear, but there was hardly enough to keep it upunless Marion could rustle a job somewhere.
"And all she knows how to do
is nurse," says Vee. "She's not even atrained nurse at that."
"Ain't there anybody she could marry?" I suggests.
"That's the tragic part, Torchy," says Vee. "There is--Mr. Biggies."
"What, 'Puffy' Biggles!" says I. "Not that old prune face with the shinydome and the baggy eyes?"
Vee says he's the one. He's been hoverin' 'round, like an old buzzard,for three or four years now, playin' chess with the old man while helasted, but always with his pop-eyes fixed on Marion. And since she'sbeen left alone he'd been callin' reg'lar once a week, urging her to behis tootsy-wootsy No. 3. He was the main wheeze in some third-rate lifeinsurance concern, I believe, and fairly well off, and he owned a classyplace over near the Country Club. But he had a 44 belt, a chin like apelican, and he was so short of breath that everybody called him"Puffy" Biggles. Besides, he was fifty.
"A hot old Romeo he'd make for a nice girl like that," says I. "Is heher best bet? Ain't there any second choice?"
"There was another," says Vee. "Rather a nice chap, too--that Mr. ElleryPrescott, who played the organ so well and was some kind of a broker.You remember?"
"Sure!" says I. "The one who pulled down a captain's commission atPlattsburg. Did she have him on the string?"
"They had been friends for a long time," says Vee. "Were as good asengaged once; though how he managed to see much of Marion I can'timagine, with Mr. Gray so crusty toward him. You see, he didn't playchess. Anyway, he finally gave up. I suppose he's at the front now, andeven if he ever should come back---- Well, Marion seldom mentions him.I'm sure, though, that they thought a good deal of each other. Poorthing! She was crazy to go across as a canteen worker. And now shedoesn't know what to do. Of course, there's always Biggles. If we couldonly save her from that!"
At which remark I grows skittish. I didn't like the way she was gazin'at me. "Ah, come, Vee!" says I. "Lay off that rescue stuff. Adoptin'female orphans of over thirty, or matin' 'em up appropriate is way outof my line. Suppose we pass resolutions of regret in Marion's case, andlet it ride at that?"
"At least," goes on Vee, "we can do a little something to cheer her up.Mrs. Robert Ellins has asked her for dinner tomorrow night. Us too."
"Oh, I'll go that far," says I, "although the last I knew about theEllinses' kitchen squad, it's takin' a chance."
I was some little prophet, too. I expect Mrs. Robert hadn't been havin'much worse a time with her help than most folks, but three cooks insideof ten days was goin' some. Lots of people had been longer'n thatwithout any, though. But when any pot wrestler can step into a munitionworks or an airplane factory and pull down her three or four dollars aday for an eight-hour shift, what can you expect?
Answer: What we got that night at the Ellinses'. The soup had beenscorched once, but it had been cooled off nicely before it got to us.The fish had been warmed through--barely. And the roast lamb tasted likeit had been put through an embalmin' process. But the cookin' was highart compared to the service, for since their butler had quit to become acrack riveter in a shipyard they've been havin' maids do their platejugglin'.
And this wide-built fairy, with the eyes that didn't track, sure wasconstructed for anything but glidin' graceful around a dinner table.For one thing, she had the broken-arch roll in her gait, and when shepads in through the swing-door she's just as easy in her motion as a cowwalkin' the quarter-deck with a heavy sea runnin'. Every now and thenshe'd scuff her toe in the rug, and how some of us escaped a soup or agravy bath I can't figure out. Maybe we were in luck.
Also, she don't mind reachin' in front of you and sidewipin' your earwith her elbow. Accidents like that were merry little jokes to her.
"Ox-cuse me, Mister!" she'd pipe out shrill and childish, and thenindulged in a maniac giggle that would get Mrs. Robert grippin' thechair arms.
She liked to be chatty and folksy while she was servin', too. Her mottoseemed to be, "Eat hearty and give the house a good name." If youdidn't, she tried to coax you into it, or it into you.
"Oh, do have some more of th' meat, Miss," she says to Vee. "And anotherpotato, now. Just one more, Miss."
And all Mrs. Robert can do is pink up, and when she's out of hearin'apologize for her. "As you see," says Mrs. Robert, "she is hardly atrained waitress."
"She'd make a swell auctioneer, though," I suggests.
"No doubt," says Mrs. Robert. "And I suppose I am fortunate enough tohave anyone in the kitchen at all, even to do the cooking--such as itis."
"You ain't lonesome in feelin' that way," says I. "It seems to be ageneral complaint."
Which brings out harrowin' tales of war-wrecked homes, where no buttlinghad been done for months, where chauffeurs and gardeners were onlyrepresented by stars on the service flag, and from which even personalmaids had gone to be stenographers and nurses. But chiefly it was themissin' cook who was mourned. Some had quit to follow their men totrainin' camps, a lot had copped out better payin' jobs, and others hadbeen lured to town, where they could get the fake war extras hot off thepress and earn higher wages as well.
Course, there were some substitute cooks--reformed laundresses, rawamateurs and back numbers that should have reached the age limit longbefore. And pretty awful cookin' they were gettin' away with. Vee hadheard of one who boiled the lettuce and sent in dog biscuit one mornin'for breakfast cereal. Miss Gray told what happened at the PembertonBrookses when their kitchen queen had left for Bridgeport, where she hada hubby makin' seventy-five dollars a week. The Brookses had lived forthree days on cream toast and sardines, which was all the upstairs girlhad in her culinary repertoire.
"And look at me," added Marion, "with our old family cook, who can makethe best things in the world, and I can hardly afford to keep her! But Icouldn't drive her away if I tried."
Course, with our havin' Professor and Madame Battou, the old Frenchcouple we'd annexed over a year ago in town, we had no kick comin'. Noteven the sugar and flour shortage seemed to trouble them, and our fancymeals continued regular as clock work. But on the way home Vee and I gotto talkin' about what hard times the neighbors was havin'.
"I guess what they need out here," says I, "is one of them armykitchens, that would roll around two or three times a day deliverin' hotnourishment from door to door."
And I'd hardly finished what I'd meant for a playful little remarkbefore Vee stops sudden, right in the middle of the road, and lets outan excited squeal.
"Torchy!" says she. "Why on earth didn't you suggest that before!"
"Because this foolish streak has just hit me," says I.
"But it's the very thing," says she, clappin' her hands.
"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.
"For Marion," says she. "Don't you see?"
"But she's no perambulatin' rotisserie, is she?" says I.
"She might be," says Vee. "And she shall."
"Oh, very well," says I. "If you've decided it that way, I expect shewill. But I don't quite get you."
When Vee first connects with one of her bright ideas, though, she's aptto be a little puzzlin' in her remarks about it. As a matter of fact,her scheme is a bit hazy, but she's sure it's a winner.
"Listen, Torchy," says she. "Here are all these Harbor Hillspeople--perhaps a hundred families--many of them with poor cooks, somewith none at all. And there is Marion with that perfectly splendid oldMartha of hers, who could cook for all of them."
"Oh, I see," says I. "Marion hangs out a table-board sign?"
"Stupid!" says Vee. "She does nothing of the sort. People don't want togo out for their meals; they want to eat at home. Well, Marion bringsthem their meals, all deliciously cooked, all hot, and ready to serve."
"With the kitchen range loaded on a truck and Martha passin' out soupand roasts over the tailboard, eh?" says I.
But once more I've missed. No, the plan is to get a lot of them armycontainers, such as they send hot chow up to the front trenches in; have'em filled by Martha at home, and delivered by Marion to her customers.
"It might work," says I. "It would need some c
apital, though. She'd haveto invest in a lot of containers, and she'd need a motor truck."
"I will buy those," says Vee. "I'm going in with her."
"Oh, come!" says I. "You'd look nice, wouldn't you!"
"You mean that people would talk?" comes back Vee. "What do I care? It'squite as patriotic and quite as necessary as Red Cross work, or anythingelse. It would be scientific food conservation, man-power saving, allthat sort of thing. And think what a wonderful thing it would be for theneighborhood."
"Maybe Marion wouldn't see it that way," I suggests. "Drivin' a dinnertruck around might not appeal to her. You got to remember she's more orless of an old maid. She might have notions."
"Trust her," says Vee. "But I mean to have my plan all worked out beforeI tell her a word. When you go to town tomorrow, Torchy, I want you tofind out all about those containers--how much the various compartmentswill hold, and how much they cost. Also about a light motor truck. Therewill be other details, too, which I will be thinking about."
Yes, there were other details. Nobody seemed to know much about such abusiness. It had been tried in places. Vee heard of something of thesort that was being tested up on the East Side. So it was three or fourdays before she was ready to spring this new career on Marion. But onenight, after dinner, she announces that she's all set and drags me downthere with her. Outside of the old Gray house we finds a limousine, withthe driver dozin' inside.
"It's the Biggles car!" whispers Vee. "Oh, what if he should be----Come, Torchy! Quick!"
"You wouldn't break in on a fond clinch, would you?" I asks.
"If it came to that, certainly," says Vee, pushin' the front-door buttondetermined.
I expect she would have, too. But Biggles hadn't got that far--notquite. He's on the mat all right, though, with his fat face sort offlushed and his eyes popped more'n usual. And Marion Gray seems to besort of fussed, too. She is some tinted up under the eyes, and when shesees who it is she glances at Vee sort of appealin'.
"Oh, I'm so sorry to interrupt," says Vee, marchin' right in and takin'Marion by the arm. "You'll pardon me, I hope, Mr. Biggles, but I mustspeak to Miss Gray at once about--about something very important."
And almost before "Puffy" Biggles knows what's happened he's leftstaring at an empty armchair.
In the cozy little library Vee pushes Marion down on a window seat andcamps beside her. Trust Vee for jabbin,' the probe right in, too.
"Tell me," she demands whispery, "was--was he at it again?"
Marion pinks up more'n ever. And, say, with them shy brown eyes of hers,and all the curves, she ain't so hard to look at. "Yes," admits Marion."You see, I had promised to give him a final answer tonight."
"But surely, Marion," says Vee, "you'd never in the world tell him thatyou----"
"I don't know," breaks in Marion, her voice trembly. "There seems to benothing else."
"Isn't there, though!" says Vee. "Just you wait until you hear."
And with that she plunges into a rapid outline sketch of this dinnerdispensary stunt, quotin' facts and figures and givin' a profit estimatethat sounded more or less generous to me.
"So you see," she goes on enthusiastic, "you could keep your home, andyou could keep Martha, and you would be doing something perfectlysplendid for the whole community. Besides, you would be entirelyindependent of--of everyone."
"But do you think I could do it?" asks Marion.
"I know you could," says Vee. "Anyway, we could between us. I willfurnish the capital, and keep the accounts and help you plan the dailymenus. You will do the marketing and delivering. Martha will do thecooking. And there you are! We may have to start with only a few familyorders at first, but others will come in fast. You'll see."
By that time Marion was catching the fever. Her eyes brighten and herchin comes up.
"I believe we could do it," says she.
"And you're willing to try?" asks Vee.
Marion nods.
"Then," says Vee, "Mr. Biggles ought to be told that he needn't waitaround any longer."
"Oh, I don't see how I can," wails Marion. "He--he's such a----"
"A sticker, eh? I know," says Vee. "And it's a shame that he should haveanother chance to bother you. Torchy, don't you suppose you could do itfor her?"
"What?" says I. "Break it to Biggles? Why, I could do it swell. Leave itto me. I'll shunt him on the siding so quick he won't know he's everbeen on the main track."
I don't waste any diplomatic language doin' it, either. On my way inwhere he's waiting I passes through the hall and gathers up his newderby and yellow gloves, holdin' 'em behind me as I breaks in on him.
"Excuse me, Mr. Biggles," says I, "but it's all off."
"I--I beg pardon?" says he, gazin' at me fish-eyed and stupid.
"Ah, let's not run around in circles," says I. "Miss Gray presents hercompliments, and all that sort of stuff, but she's goin' into anotherline. If you must know, she's going to bust up the cook combine, andfrom now on she'll be mighty busy. Get me?"
Biggles stiffens and stares at me haughty. "I don't in the leastunderstand anything of all this," says he. "I had an appointment withMarion for this evening; something quite important to--to us both. I mayas well tell you that I had asked Marion a momentous question. I amwaiting for her answer."
"Well, here it is," says I, holdin' out the hat.
Biggles, he gurgles something indignant and turns purple in the gills,but he ends by snatchin' away the derby and marchin' stiff to the door.
"Understand," says he, with his hand on the knob, "I do not accept yourimpertinence as a reply. I--I shall see Marion again."
"Sure you will," says I. "She'll be around to get your dinner orderearly next week."
"Bah!" says Biggles, bangin' the door behind him.
But, say, inside of five minutes he'd been wiped off the slate, and themtwo girls was plannin' their hot-food campaign as busy and excited as ifit was Marion's church weddin' they were doping out. It's after midnightbefore they breaks away, too.
You know Vee, though. She ain't one to start things and then quit. She'sa stayer. And some grand little hustler, too. By Monday mornin' theHarbor Hills Community Kitchen Co. was a going concern. And before theweek was out they had more'n forty families on the standin' order list,with new squads of soup scorchers bein' fired every day.
What got a gasp out of me was the first time I gets sight of Marion Grayin her working rig. Nothing old-maidish about that costume. Not so you'dnotice. She's gone the limit--khaki riding pants, leather leggins and azippy cloth cap cut on the overseas pattern. None of them Women's MotorCorps girls had anything on her. And maybe she ain't some picture, too,as she jumps in behind the wheel of the truck and steps on the gaspedal!
Also, I was some jarred to learn that the enterprise was a payin' onealmost from the start. Folks was just tickled to death with havin'perfectly good meals, well cooked, well seasoned and pipin' hot, setdown at their back doors prompt every day, with no fractious fryin'-panpirates growlin' around the kitchens, and no local food profiteerssoakin' 'em with big weekly bills.
This has been goin' on a month, when one day as I comes home Vee greetsme with a flyin' tackle.
"Oh, Torchy!" she squeals, "what do you think has happened?"
"I know," says I. "Baby's cut a tooth."
"No," says she. "It's--it's about Marion."
"Oh!" says I. "She ain't bumped somebody with the truck, has she?"
"How absurd!" says Vee. "But, listen, Captain Ellery Prescott has comeback."
"What! The old favorite?" says I. "But I thought he was over withPershing?"
"Not yet," says Vee. "He has been out at some Western camp trainingrecruits all this time. But now he has his orders. He is to sail verysoon. And he's seen Marion."
"Has he?" said I. "Did it give him a jolt, or what?"
Vee giggles and pulls my head down so she can whisper in my ear. "Hethought her perfectly stunning, as she is, of course. And they're to bemarried day after tomorrow."
"Not at all," says Vee. "Until he comes back, after the war, Marion isgoing to carry on."
"Anyway," says I, "it ends 'Puffy' Biggies as an impendin' tragedy,don't it? And I expect that's worth while, too."
