Wilt Thou Torchy

  Produced by Al Haines

  [Frontispiece: "But the impudence of you, to do it right here!" shegoes on. "No one but you, Torchy, would have thought of that."]

  WILT THOU TORCHY

  BY

  SEWELL FORD

  AUTHOR OF

  TORCHY, TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC, ETC.

  ILLUSTRATIONS BY

  FRANK SNAPP AND ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN

  NEW YORK

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  PUBLISHERS

  COPYRIGHT, 1915, 1916, 1917, BY

  SEWELL FORD

  COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY

  EDWARD J. CLODE

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I. ON THE WAY WITH CYBIL II. TOWING CECIL TO A SMEAR III. TORCHY HANDS OUT A SPILL IV. HOW HAM PASSED THE BUCK V. WITH ELMER LEFT IN VI. A BALANCE FOR THE BOSS VII. TORCHY FOLLOWS A HUNCH VIII. BREAKING ODD WITH MYRA IX. REPORTING BLANK ON RUPERT X. WHEN AUNTIE CRASHES IN XI. A JOLT FROM OLD HICKORY XII. TORCHY HITS THE HIGH SEAS XIII. WHEN THE NAVY HORNED IN XIV. AUNTIE TAKES A NIGHT OFF XV. PASSING THE JOKE BUCK XVI. TORCHY TAKES A RUNNING JUMP XVII. A LITTLE SPEED ON THE HOME STRETCH

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  "But the impudence of you, to do it right here!" she goes on. "No onebut you, Torchy, would have thought of that." . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

  "I don't think I ever saw Auntie come so near beamin' before. Sheseems right at home, fieldin' that line of chat. And Vee, too, is moreor less under the spell.

  "For a second it looked like Gladys was goin' to freeze with horror;but she just gives Valentina the once-over and indulges in a panickylittle giggle."

  "Then she grips me around the neck and snuggles her head down on mynecktie--say, then I knew."

  WILT THOU TORCHY

  CHAPTER I

  ON THE WAY WITH CECIL

  It was a case of declarin' time out on the house. Uh-huh--a wholeafternoon. What's the use bein' a private sec. in good standin' unlessyou can put one over on the time-clock now and then? Besides, I had asocial date; and, now Mr. Robert is back on the job so steady and isgettin' so domestic in his habits, somebody's got to represent theCorrugated Trust at these function things.

  The event was the openin' of the Pill Box; you know, one of these dinkylittle theaters where they do the capsule drama at two dollars a seat.Not that I've been givin' my theatrical taste the highbrow treatment.I'm still strong for the smokeless war play where the coised spy getshis'n good and hard.

  But I understand this one-act stuff is the thing to see just now, andI'd picked up a hunch that Vee and Auntie had planned to be in on thisopenin' until Auntie's sciatica developed so bad that they had to callit off. So it's me makin' the timely play with a couple of seats in Ecenter and almost gettin' hugged for it. Even Auntie shoots me anapprovin' glance as she hands down a favorable decision.

  So we sits through five acts of piffle that was mostly talky junk tome. And, at that, I wa'n't sufferin' exactly; for when them actorinesgot too weird, all I had to do was swing a bit in my seat and I had aside view of a spiffy little white fur boa, with a pink ear-tip showin'under a ripple of corn-colored hair, and a--well, I had something worthwatching that's all.

  "Wasn't that last thing stupid?" says Vee.

  "Didn't bother me any," says I. "Maybe I wa'n't followin' it realclose."

  "The idea!" says, she. "Why come to the theater, anyway?"

  "Lean closer and I'll whisper," says I.

  "Silly!" says she. "Here! Have a chocolate."

  "Toss," says I, openin' my mouth.

  Vee snickers. "Suppose I missed and hit the fat man beyond?"

  "It's a sportin' chance he takes," says I. "Shoot."

  I had to bump Fatty a bit makin' the catch; but when he sees what thegame is, he comes back with the friendly grin.

  "There!" says Vee, tintin' up. "Now behave."

  "Sorry," says I, "but I had to field my position, didn't I? Once more,now."

  "Certainly not," says Vee. "Besides, there goes the curtain."

  And if it hadn't been for interruptions like that we might have had aperfectly good time. We generally do when we're let alone. To sort ofstring the fun out I suggests goin' somewhere for tea. And it waswhile we're swappin' josh over the toasted crumpets and marmalade thatwe discovers a familiar-lookin' couple on the dancin' surface.

  "Why, there's Doris!" says Vee.

  "And the happy hubby!" I adds. "Hey, Westy! Come nourish yourself."

  Maybe you remember that pair? Sappy Westlake, anyway. He's the noble,fair-haired youth that for a long time Auntie had all picked out as thechosen one for Vee, and he hung around constant until one lucky day Veehad this Doris Ull come for a visit.

  Kind of a pouty, peevish queen, Doris was, you know. Spoiled at home,and the job finished at one of these flossy girls' boardin'-schoolswhere they get a full course in court etiquette and learn to call thehired girl Smith quite haughty.

  But she looked good to Westy, and, what with the help Vee and I gave'em, they made a match of it. Months ago that must 'a' been, nearly ayear. So I signals a fray-juggler to pull up more chairs, and we hasquite a reunion.

  Seems they'd been on a long honeymoon trip: done the whole Pacificcoast, stopped off a while at Banff, and worked hack home throughQuebec and the White Mountains. Think of all the carfares and tips tobell-hops that means! He don't have to worry, though. Income isWesty's middle name. All he knows about it is that there's a trustcompany downtown somewheres that handles the estate and wishes on himquarterly a lot more'n he knows how to spend. Beastly bore!

  "What a wonderful time you two must have had!" says Vee.

  Doris shrugs her shoulders.

  "Sightseeing always gives me a headache," says she. "And in theCanadian Rockies we nearly froze. I was glad to see New York again.But one tires of hotel life. Thank goodness, our house is ready atlast. We moved in a week ago."

  "Oh!" says Vee. "Then you're housekeeping?"

  Doris nods. "It's quite thrilling," says she. "At ten-thirty everymorning I have the butler bring me Cook's list. Then I 'phone for thethings myself. That is, I've just begun. Let me see, didn't I put into-day's order in my--yes, here it is." And she fishes a piece ofpaper out of a platinum mesh bag. "Think of our needing all that--justHarold and me," she goes on.

  "I should say so," says Vee, startin' to read over the items. "'Sugar,two pounds; tea, two pounds--'"

  "Cook leaves the amounts to me," explains Doris; "so I just order twopounds of everything."

  "Oh!" says Vee, readin' on. "'Butter, two pounds; eggs, two--' Dothey sell eggs that way, Doris?"

  "Don't they?" asks Doris. "I'm sure I don't know."

  "'Coffee, two pounds,'" continues Vee. "'Yeast cakes, two pounds--'Why, wouldn't that be a lot of yeast cakes? They're such littlethings!"

  "Perhaps," says Doris. "But then, I sha'n't have to bother orderingany more for a month, you see. Now, take the next item. 'Champagnewafers, ten pounds.' I'm fond of those. But that is the only time Ibroke my rule. See--'flour, two pounds; roast beef, two pounds,' andso on. Oh, I mean to be quite systematic in my housekeeping!"

  "Isn't she a wonder?" asks Westy, gazin' at her proud and mushy.

  "I say, though, Vee," goes on Doris enthusiastic, "you must come homewith us for dinner to-night. Do!"

  At which Westy nudges her and whispers something behind his hand.

  "Oh, yes," adds Doris. "You too, Torchy."

  Vee had to 'phone Auntie and get Doris to back her up before thespecial dispensation was granted; but at six-thirty the four of usstarts uptown for this brownstone bird-cage of happiness that Westy hastaken a five-year lease of.

  "Just think!" says Vee, as we unloads
from the taxi. "You with a houseof your own, and managing servants, and--"

  "Oh!" remarks Doris, as she pushes the button. "I do hope you won'tmind Cyril."

  "Mind who?" says Vee.

  "He--he's our butler," explains Westy. "I suppose he's a very goodbutler, too--the man at the employment agency said he was; but--er--"

  "I'm sure he is," puts in Doris, "even if he does look a little odd.Then there is his name--Cyril Snee. Of course, Cyril doesn't soundjust right for a butler, does it? But Snee is so--so--"

  "Isn't it?" says Vee. "I should call him Cyril."

  "We started in that way," says Doris, "but he asked us not to; said hepreferred to be called Snee. It was unusual, and besides he hadprivate reasons. So between ourselves we speak of him as Cyril, and tohis face-- Well, I suppose we shall get used to saying Snee, though--Why, where can he be? I've rung twice and-- Oh, here he comes!"

  And, believe me, when Doris described him as lookin' a little odd she'ssaid sumpun. Cyril was all of that. As far as figures goes he's bigand impressive enough, with sort of a dignified bulge around theequator. But that face of his, with the white showin' through thepink, and the pink showin' through the white in the most unexpectedplaces! Like a scraped radish. No, that don't give you the idea ofhis color scheme exactly. Say a half parboiled baby. For the pinkspots on his chin and forehead was baby pink, and the white of hischeeks and ears was a clear, waxy white, like he'd been made up by anartist. Then, the thin gray hair, cropped so close the pink scalpglimmered through; and the wide mouth with the quirky corners; and thegreenish pop-eyes with the heavy bags underneath--well, that was a mapto remember.

  And the worst of it was, I couldn't. Sure, I'd met it. No doubt aboutthat. But I follows the bunch into the house like I was in a trance,starin' at Cyril over Westy's shoulder and askin' myself urgent, "Wherehave I seen that face before?" No, I couldn't place him. And you knowhow a thing like that will bother you. It got me in the appetite.

  Maybe it was just as well, too, for I'd got half way through the soupbefore I notices anything the matter with it. My guess was that ittasted scorchy. I glances around at Vee, and finds she's just makin' abluff at eatin' hers. Doris and Westy ain't even doin' that, and whenI drops my spoon Doris signals to take it away. Which Cyril does,movin' as solemn and dignified as if he was usherin' at a funeral.Then there's a stage wait for three or four minutes before the fish isbrought in, Cyril paddin' around ponderous with the plates. Dorisbeckons him up and demands in a whisper:

  "Where is Helma?"

  "Helma, ma'am," says he, "is taking the evening out."

  "But--" begins Doris, then stops and bites her lip.

  The fish could have stood some of the surplus cookin' that the soupgot. It wa'n't exactly eatable fish, and the potato marbles that comewith it should have been numbered; then they'd be useful in Kelleypool. Yes, they was a bit hard. Doris gets red under the eyes andwaves out the fish.

  She stands it, though, until that two-pound roast is put before Westy.Not such a whale of a roast, it ain't. It's a one-rib affair, like anovergrown chop, and it reposes lonesome in the middle of a big silverplatter. It's done, all right. Couldn't have been more so if it hadbeen cooked in a blast-furnace. Even the bone was charred through.

  Westy he gazes at it in his mild, helpless way, and pokes it doubtfulwith the carvin'-fork.

  "I say, Cyr--er--Snee," says he, "what's this?"

  "The roast, sir," says the butler.

  "The deuce it is!" says Westy. "Do--do I use a saw or dynamite?" Andhe stares across at Doris inquirin'.

  "Snee," says Doris, her upper lip trembling "you--you may take it away."

  "Back to the kitchen, ma'am?" asks Cyril.

  "Ye-es," says Doris. "Certainly."

  "Very well, ma'am," says Cyril, sort of tragic and mysterious.

  He hadn't more'n got through the swing-door before Doris slumps in herchair, puts her face into her hands, and begins lettin' out the sobsreckless. Course, Westy jumps to the rescue and starts pattin' her onthe back and offerin' soothin' words. So does Vee.

  "There, there!" says Vee. "We don't mind a bit. Such things are boundto happen."

  "But I--I don't know what to do," sobs Doris. "It's--it's been gettingworse every day. They began all right--the servants, I mean. Butyesterday Marie was impudent, and to-night Helma has gone out when sheshouldn't, and now Cook has spoiled everything, and--"

  We ain't favored with the rest of the sad tale, for just then there's aquick scuff of feet, and Cyril comes skatin' through the pantry doorand does a frantic dive behind the sideboard.

  Doris straightens up, brushes her eyes clear, and makes a brave stab atbein' dignified.

  "Snee," says she, real reprovin'.

  "I--I beg pardon, ma'am," says Cyril, edgin' out and revealin' a broadblack smooch on his shirt-front as well as a few other un-butlery signs.

  "Why, whatever has happened to yon?" demands Doris.

  "I'm not complaining, ma'am," says Cyril; "but Cook, you see, she--shedidn't like it because of my bringing back the roast. And I'm not verygood at dodging, ma'am."

  "Oh!" says Doris, shudderin'.

  "It struck me here, ma'am," says Cyril, indicatin' the exact spot.

  "Yes, yes, I see," says Doris. "I--I'm sorry, Snee."

  "Not at all, ma'am," objects Cyril. "My fault entirely. I should havejumped quicker. And it might have been the pudding. That wouldn'thave hit so hard, but it would have splashed more. You see, ma'am, I--"

  "Never mind, Snee," cuts in Doris, tryin' to stop him.

  "I don't, ma'am, I assure you," says Cyril, pluckin' a spray of parsleyoff his collar. "I was only going to remark what a wonderful true eyeCook has, ma'am; and her in liquor, at that."

  "Oh, oh!" squeals Doris panicky.

  "It began when I brought her the brandy for the pudding sauce, ma'am,"goes on Cyril, real chatty. "She'd had only one glass when she beginschucking me under the chin and calling me Dearie. Not that I ever gaveher any cause, ma'am, to--"

  "Please!" wails Doris. "Harold! Stop him, can't you?"

  And say, can you see Sappy Westlake stoppin' anything? Specially sucha runnin' stream as this here now Cyril. But he comes to life for onefaint effort.

  "I say, you know," he starts in, "perhaps you'd best say no more aboutit, Snee."

  "As you like, sir," says Cyril. "Only, I don't wish my feelingsconsidered. Not in the least. If you care to send back the salad Iwill gladly--"

  Westy glances appealin' towards me.

  "Torchy," says he, "couldn't you--"

  Couldn't I, though! Say, I'd just been yearnin' to crash into thisaffair for the last five minutes. I'd remembered Cyril. At least, Ithought I had. And I proceeds to rap for order with a table-knife.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Snee," says I, "but you ain't been called on for amonologue. You can print the whole story of how kitchen neutrality wasviolated, issue a yellow book, if you like; but just for the minute tryto forget that assault with the roast and see if you can remember everhavin' met me before. Can you?"

  Don't seem to faze Cyril a bit. He takes a good look at me and thenshakes his head.

  "I'm sorry, sir," says he, "but I'm afraid I'm stupid about suchthings. I can sometimes recall names very readily, but faces--"

  "How long since you quit jugglin' pies and sandwiches at thequick-lunch joint?" says I.

  "Three months, sir," says he prompt.

  "Tied the can to you, did they?" says I.

  "I was discharged, sir," says Cyril. "The proprietor objected to mytalking so much to customers. I suppose he was quite right. One of mymany failings, sir."

  "I believe you," says I. "So you took up buttling, eh? Wa'n't thatsome nervy jump?"

  "I considered it a helpful step in my career," says he.

  "Your which?" says I.

  "Perhaps I should put it," says he, "that the work seemed to offer thediscipline which would make me most useful to our nobl
e order."

  And as he says the last two words he puts his palms at right angles tohis ears, thumbs in, and bows three times.

  "Eh?" says I, gawpin'.

  "I refer," says Cyril, "to the Brotherhood of the Sacred Owls, which isalso named the Sublime Order of Humility and Wisdom."

  And once more he does the ear wigwag. Believe me, he had us allgaspin'.

  "Vurra good, Eddie!" says I. "Sacred Owls, eh? What is that--one ofthese insurance schemes?"

  "There are both mortuary and sick benefits appertaining to membership,"says Cyril, "but our chief aim and purpose is to acquire humility andwisdom. It so happens that I have been named as candidate for GrandOrganizer of the East, and at our next solemn conclave, to be held--"

  "I get you," says I. "I can see where you might find some practice inbein' humble by buttlin', but how about gettin' wise?"

  "With humility comes wisdom, as our public ritual has it," says Cyril."In the text-book which I studied--'The Perfect Butler'--there was verylittle about being humble, however. But my cousin, who conducts anemployment agency, assured me that could only be acquired by practice.So he secured me several positions. He was wholly correct. I havebeen discharged on an average of once a week for the last two months,and on each occasion I have discovered newer and deeper depths ofhumility."

  I draws a long breath and gazes admiring at Cyril. Then I turns to theWestlakes.

  "Westy," says I, "do you want to accommodate Mr. Snee with a freshchance of perfectin' himself for the Sublime Order?"

  He nods. So does Doris.

  "It's a unanimous vote, Cyril," says I. "You're fired. Not forfailin' to duck the roast, understand, but because you're too gabby."

  "Thank you, sir," says he, actin' a little disappointed. "I am toleave at once, I suppose?"

  "No," says I. "Stop long enough in the kitchen to tell Cook she getsthe chuck, too. After that, if you ain't qualified as Grand ImperialOrganizer of the whole United States, then the Sacred Owls don't knowtheir business. By-by, Cyril. We're backin' you to win, remember."

  And as I pushes him through the pantry door I locks it behind him.Followin' which, Doris uses the powder-puff under her eyes a little andwe adjourns to the Plutoria palm-room, where we had a perfectly gooddinner, all the humility Westy could buy with a two-dollar tip, and nofolksy chatter on the side.

  Next day the Westlakes calls up another agency, and by night they hadan entire new line of help on the job.

  What do you guess, though? Here yesterday afternoon I leaves theoffice on the jump and chases up to the apartment house where Vee andAuntie are settled for the winter. My idea was that I might catch Veecomin' home from a shoppin' orgie, or the matinee, or something, andget a few minutes' conversation in the lobby.

  The elevator-boy says she's out, too, so it looks like I was a winner.I waits half an hour and she don't show up, and I'm just about to takea chance on ringin' up Auntie for information, when in she comes,chirky and smilin', with rose leaves sprinkled on both cheeks and hereyes sparklin'. Also she has a bundle of books under one arm.

  "Why the literature?" says I. "Goin' to read Auntie to sleep?"

  "There!" says she, poutin' cute. "I wasn't going to let anyone know.I've started in at college."

  "Wha-a-at!" says I. "You ain't never goin' to be a lady doctor oranything like that, are you?"

  "I am taking a course at Columbia," says Vee, "in domestic science.Doris is doing it, too. And such fun! To-day we learned how to make abed--actually made it up, too. To-morrow I am going to boil potatoes."

  "Hel-lup!" says I. "You are? Say, how long does this last?"

  "It's a two-year course," says Vee.

  "Stick to it," says I. "That'll give me time to take lessons fromWesty on how to get an income wished onto me."

  As it stands, though, Vee's got me distanced. Please, ain't somebodygot a plute aunt to spare?