Torchy As A Pa

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  TORCHY AS A PA

  BYSEWELL FORD

  AUTHOR OFTHE TORCHY AND THE SHORTY McCABE STORIES

  GROSSET & DUNLAPPUBLISHERS NEW YORK

  Made in the United States of America

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  Copyright, 1919, 1920, bySEWELL FORD

  Copyright, 1920, byEDWARD J. CLODE

  All Rights Reserved

  Printed In the United States of America

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  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I. Vee Ties Something Loose 1 II. When Hallam Was Rung Up 16 III. The Gummidges Get a Break 34 IV. Finding Out About Buddy 50 V. In Deep for Waddy 69 VI. How Torchy Anchored a Cook 89 VII. How the Garveys Broke in 105 VIII. Nicky and the Setting Hen 122 IX. Brink Does a Sideslip 136 X. 'Ikky-Boy Comes Along 150 XI. Louise Reverses the Clock 162 XII. When the Curb Got Gypped 177 XIII. The Mantle of Sandy the Great 191 XIV. Torchy Shunts a Wizard 205 XV. Stanley Takes the Jazz Cure 220 XVI. The Mystery of the Thirty-One 234 XVII. No Luck with Auntie 248 XVIII. Hartley Pulls a New One 263 XIX. Torchy Gets a Hunch 279 XX. Giving 'Chita a Look 293

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  TORCHY AS A PA

  CHAPTER I

  VEE TIES SOMETHING LOOSE

  I forget just what it was Vee was rummagin' for in the drawer of herwritin' desk. Might have been last month's milk bill, or a stray hairnet, or the plans and specifications for buildin' a spiced layer cakewith only two eggs. Anyway, right in the middle of the hunt she cutsloose with the staccato stuff, indicatin' surprise, remorse, suddengrief and other emotions.

  "Eh?" says I. "Is it a woman-eatin' mouse, or did you grab a hatpin bythe business end?"

  "Silly!" says she. "Look what I ran across, Torchy." And she flips anengraved card at me.

  I picks it on the fly, reads the neat script on it, and then hunches myshoulders. "Well, well!" says I. "At home after September 15, 309 WestHundred and Umpty Umpt street. How interestin'! But who is this Mr. andMrs. Hamilton Porter Blake, anyway?"

  "Why, don't you remember?" says Vee. "We sent them that darlingurn-shaped candy jar. That is Lucy Lee and her dear Captain."

  "Oh, then she got him, did she?" says I. "I knew he was a goner when shewent after him so strong. And now I expect they're livin' happy everafter?"

  Maybe you don't remember my tellin' you about Lucy Lee, the Virginiabutterfly we took in over the week-end once and how I had to scratcharound one Saturday to find some male dinner mate for her, and pickedthis hard-boiled egg from the bond room, one of these buddin' John D.'swho keeps an expense account and shudders every time he passes amillinery store or thinks what two orchestra seats and a double taxifare would set him back. And, the female being the more expensive of thespecies, he has trained himself to be girl proof. That's what he lets onto me beforehand, but inside of forty-eight minutes by the watch, orbetween his first spoonful of tomato soup and his last sip of cafe noir,this Lucy Lee party had him so dizzy in the head he didn't know whetherhe was gazin' into her lovely eyes or being run down by a truck. Honest,some of these babidolls with high voltage lamps like that ought to bemade to use dimmers. For look! Just as she's got him all wound up in thenet, what does Lucy Lee do but flit sudden off to the Berkshires, wherea noble young S. O. S. captain has just come back from the war and thenext we know they're engaged, while in the bond room of the CorrugatedTrust is one more broken heart, or what passes for the same among themyoung hicks.

  And now here is Lucy Lee, flaggin' as young Mrs. Blake, livin' right inthe same town with him.

  "How stupid of me to forget!" says Vee. "We must run in and call on themright away, Torchy."

  "We?" says I. "Ah, come!"

  "We'll have dinner first at that cute little Cafe Bretone you've beentelling me about," says Vee, "and go up to see the Blakes afterwards."

  Yes, that was the program we followed. And without the aid of a guide welocated this Umpty Umpt street. The number is about half way down theblock that runs from upper Broadway to Riverside Drive. It's one of thenarrow streets, you know, and the scenery is just as cheerful as asection of the Hudson River tube on a foggy night. Nothing butseven-story apartment buildings on either side; human hives, where theonly thing that can be raised is the rent, which the landlord attends toevery quarter.

  Having lived out in the near-country for a couple of years, I'd mostforgotten what ugly, gloomy barracks these big apartment buildings were.Say, if they built state prisons like that, with no more sun or air inthe cells, there'd be an awful howl. But the Rosenheimers and the MaxBlums and the Gilottis can run up jerry built blocks with 8x10 bedroomsopenin' on narrow airshafts, and livin' rooms where you need a couple oflights burnin' on sunny days, and nobody says a word except to beg theagent to let 'em pay $150 a month or so for four rooms and bath. I canfeel Vee give a shudder as we dives into the tunnel.

  "But really," says she, "I suppose it must be very nice, only half ablock from the Drive, and with such an imposing entrance."

  "Sure!" says I. "Just as cosy as being tucked away in a safety depositvault every night. That's what makes some of these New Yorkers sopatronizin' and haughty when they happen to stray out to way stationsand crossroads joints where the poor Rubes live exposed continual tosunshine and fresh air and don't seem to know any better."

  "Just think!" says Vee. "Lucy Lee's home down in Virginia was one ofthose delightful old Colonial houses set on a hill, with more than ahundred acres of farm land around it. And Captain Blake must have beenused to an outdoor life. He's a civil engineer, I believe. But then,with the honeymoon barely over, I suppose they don't mind."

  "We might ask 'em," I suggests.

  "Don't you dare, Torchy!" says she.

  By that time, though, we're ready to interview the fuzzy-haired WestIndian brunette in charge of the 'phone desk in one corner of themarble wainscoted lobby. And when he gets through givin' the hotcomeback to some tenant who has dared to protest that he's had the wrongnumber, he takes his time findin' out for us whether or not the Blakesare in. Finally he grunts something through the gum and waves us towardthe elevator. "Fourth," says he. And a slouchy young female in a dirtykhaki uniform takes us up, jerky, to turn us loose in a hallway with adozen doors openin' off.

  There's such a dim light we could hardly read the cards in the doorplates, and we was pawin' around, dazed, when a husky bleached blondecomes sailin' out of an apartment.

  "Will you please tell me which is the Blakes' bell?" asks Vee.

  "Blakes?" says the blonde. "Don't know 'em."

  "Perhaps we're on the wrong floor," I suggests.

  But about then a door opens and out peers Lucy Lee herself. "Why, thereyou are!" says she. "We were just picking up a little. You know howthings get in an apartment. So good of you to hunt us up. Come rightin."

  So we squeezes in between a fancy hall seat and the kitchen door, edgesdown a three-foot hallway, and discovers Captain Blake just strugglin'into his coat, at the same time kickin' some evenin' papers, dexterous,under a davenport.

  "Why, how comfy you are here, aren't you?" says Vee, gazin' around.

  "Ye-e-es, aren't we?" says Lucy Lee, a bit draggy.

  If you've ever m
ade one of these flathouse first calls you can fill inthe rest for yourself. We are shown how, by leanin' out one of the frontwindows, you can almost see the North River; what a cute little dinin'room there is, with a built-in china closet and all; and how convenientthe bathroom is wedged between the two sleeping rooms.

  "But really," says Lucy Lee, "the kitchen is the nicest. Do you know,the sun actually comes in for nearly an hour every afternoon. And isn'teverything so handy?"

  Yes, it was. You could stand in the middle and reach the gas stove withone hand and the sink with the other, and if you didn't want to use thewashtub you could rest a loaf of bread on it. Then there was thedumbwaiter door just beside the ice-box, and overhead a shelf where youcould store a whole dollar's worth of groceries, if you happened to havethat much on hand at once. It was all as handy as an upper berth.

  "You see," explains Lucy Lee, "we have no room for a maid, and couldn'tpossibly get one if we did have room, so I am doing my own work; thatis, we are. Hamilton is really quite a wonderful cook; aren't you,Hammy, dear? Of course, I knew how to make fudge, and I am learning toscramble eggs. We go out for dinner a lot, too."

  "Isn't that nice?" says Vee, encouragin'.

  Gradually we got the whole story. It seems Blake wasn't a captain anymore, but had an engineerin' job on one of the new tubes, so they had tostick in New York. They had thought at first it would be thrilling, butI gathered that most of the thrills had worn off. And along towards theend Lucy Lee admits that she's awfully lonesome. You see, she'd beenused to spendin' about six months of the year with Daddy in Washington,three more in flittin' around from one house party to the other, andwhat was left of the year restin' up down on the big plantation, wherethey knew all the neighbors for miles around.

  "But here," says she, "we seem to know hardly anyone. Oh, yes, there area few people in town we've met, but somehow we never see them. They liveeither in grand houses on Fifth Avenue, or in big hotels, or inBrooklyn."

  "Then you haven't gotten acquainted with anyone in the building here?"asks Vee.

  "Why," says Lucy Lee, "the janitor's wife is a Mrs. Biggs, I believe.I've spoken to her several times--about the milk."

  "You poor dear!" says Vee.

  "It's so tiresome," goes on Lucy Lee, "wandering out at night to somestrange restaurant and eating dinner among total strangers. We go oftento one perfectly dreadful little place because there's a funny oldwaiter that we call by his first name. He tells us about his marrieddaughter, whose husband is a steamfitter and has been out on strike fornearly two months. But Hamilton always tips him more than he should, soit makes our dinners quite expensive. We have to make up, next night, byhaving fried eggs and bacon at home."

  * * * * *

  Well, it's a tale of woe, all right. Lucy Lee don't mean to complain,but when she gets started on the subject she lets the whole thing out.Life in the great city, if you have to spend twenty hours out of thetwenty-four in a four-and-bath apartment, ain't so allurin', the way shesketches it out. Course, she ain't used to it, for one thing. She thinksif she had some friends nearby it might not be so bad. As for Hamilton,he listens to her with a puzzled, hopeless expression, like he didn'tunderstand.

  Vee seems to be studyin' over something, but she don't appear to begettin' anywhere. So we sits around and talks for an hour or so. Thereain't room to do much else in a flat. And about 9:30 Mr. Blake has abrilliant thought.

  "I say, Lucy," says he, "suppose we make a rinktum-diddy for the folks,eh?"

  "Sounds exciting'," says I. "Do you start by joinin' hands around thetable?"

  No, you don't. You get out the electric chafing dish and begin by fryin'some onions. Then you melt up some cheese, add some canned tomatoes,and the result is kind of a Spanish Welsh rabbit that's almost as tastyas it is smelly.

  It was while we was messin' around the vest pocket kitchen, everybodytryin' to help, that we spots this face at the window opposite. It'ssort of a calm, good natured face. You wouldn't call the young lady aheart-breaker exactly, for her mouth is cut kind of generous and her bigeyes are wide set and serious; but you might guess that she was a decentsort and more or less sociable. In fact she's starin' across the tenfeet or so of air space watchin' our maneuvers kind of interested andwistful.

  "Who's your neighbor?" asks Vee.

  "I'm sure I haven't an idea," says Lucy Lee. "I see her a lot, ofcourse. She spends as much time in her kitchen as I do, even more.Usually she seems to be alone."

  "Why don't you speak to her some time?" suggests Vee.

  "Oh, I wouldn't dare," says Lucy Lee. "It--it isn't done, you know. Itried that twice when I first came, with women I met in the elevator,and I was promptly snubbed. New Yorkers don't do that sort of thing, Iunderstand."

  "But she's rather a nice looking girl," insists Vee. "And see, she'shalf smiling. I'm going to speak to her." Which she does, right off thebat. "I hope you don't mind the onion perfume?" says Vee.

  The strange young lady doesn't slam down the window and go off tossin'her head, indignant, so she can't be a real New Yorker. Instead shesmiles and shows a couple of cheek dimples. "It smells mighty good,"says she. "I was just wondering what it could be."

  "Won't you come over and find out?" says Vee, smilin' back.

  "Yes, do come and join us," puts in Lucy Lee. "I'll open the hall doorfor you."

  "Why, I--I'd love to if--if I may," says the young lady.

  And that's how, half an hour or so later, when all that was left of thisrinktum-diddy trick was some brown smears on five empty plates, we begunhearin' the story of the face at the window. She's young Mrs. WilliamFairfield, and she's been that exactly three months. Before that she hadbeen Miss Esther Hartley, of Turkey Run, Md., and Kaio Chow, China. PapaHartley had been a medical missionary and Esther, after she got throughat Wellesley, had joined him as a nurse and kindergarten teacher. She'dbeen living in Kaio Chow for three years and the mission outfit wasgetting along fine when some kind of a Boxer mess broke out and they allhad to leave. Coming back on an Italian steamer from Genoa she met Bill,who'd been in aviation, and there'd been some lovely moonlight nightsand--well, Bill had persuaded her that teaching young Chinks to learnc-a-t, cat, wouldn't be half as nice as being Mrs. William Hartley.Besides, he had a good position waiting for him in a big wholesaleleather house right in New York, and it would be such fun living amongregular people.

  "I suppose it is fun, too," says Esther, "but somehow I can't seem toget used to it. Everyone here gives you such, cold, suspicious looks;even the folks you meet in the hallways and elevator, as though theymeant to say, 'Don't you dare speak to me. I don't know who or what youare, so don't come near.' They're like that, you know. Why, the streetgamins of Kaio Chow were not much worse when I first went there. Yes,they did throw stones at me a few times, but in less than a month theywere calling me the Doctor Lady and letting me tell them how wrong itwas to spend so much time gambling around the food carts. Of course,they kept right on gambling for fried fish and rice cakes, but theywould grin friendly when they saw me. Up to tonight no one in New Yorkhas even smiled at me.

  "It's such a wonderful place, too; and so big, you would almost thinkthere was enough to share with, strangers. But they seem to resent mybeing here at all, so I go out very little now when I am alone. And asBill is away all day, and sometimes has to work evenings as well, I amalone a great deal. About the only place I can see the sky from andother people is this little kitchen window. So I stay there a lot, and Iam sorry to say that often I'm foolish enough to wish myself back atthe mission among all those familiar yellow faces, where I could standon the bamboo shaded galleries and hear the hubbub in the compound, andwatch the coolies wading about in the distant rice fields. Isn't thatsilly? There must be something queer about me."

  "Not so awfully queer," says Vee. "You're lonesome, that's all."

  "No more than I am, I'm sure," says Lucy Lee. "I wonder if there aremany others?"

  "Only two or three million more," says I. "
That's why the cabarets andmovie shows are so popular."

  That starts us talking over what there was for folks to do in New Yorkevenings, and while we can dope out quite a lot of different ways ofpassin' the time between 8 p. m. and midnight, nearly every one is soexpensive that the average young couple can't afford to tackle 'emmore'n once a week or so. The other evenings they sit at home in theflat.

  "And yet," says young Mrs. Fairfield, "hardly any of them but could finda congenial group of people if--if they only knew where to look and howto get acquainted with each other. Why, right in this block I've noticedever so many who I'm sure are rather nice. But there seems to be no wayof getting together."

  "That's it, precisely!" says Vee. "So why should you wish yourself backin China?"

  "I beg pardon?" says Mrs. Bill.

  "I mean," says Vee, "that here is a missionary field, right at yourdoor. If you can go off among foreigners and get them to give up some oftheir silly ways and organize them into groups and classes, why can'tyou do something of the kind for these silly New York flat dwellers?Can't they be organized, too?"

  "Why," says Mrs. Bill, her eyes openin' wider, "I never thought of that.But--but there are so many of them."

  "What about starting with your own block?" suggests Vee. "Perhaps withonly one side of the street at first. Couldn't you find out how manywere interested in one particular thing--music, or dancing, orbridge--and get them together?"

  "Oh, I see!" says Mrs. Bill, clappin' her hands, enthusiastic. "Make asocial survey. Why, of course. One could get up a sort of questionnairecard and drop it in the letter boxes for each family to fill out, ifthey cared to do so, and then you could call meetings of the variousgroups."

  "If I could find a few home folks from Virginia, that's all I wouldask," says Lucy Lee.

  "Then we would start the card with 'Where born?'" says Mrs. Bill. "Thatwould show us how many were Southerners, how many from the West, fromNew England, and so on. Next we would want to know something about theirages."

  "Not too much," suggests Hamilton Blake. "Better ask 'em if they'reover or under thirty."

  "Of course," says Mrs. Bill. "Let's see how such a card would look. Nextwe would ask them what amusements they liked best: music, dancing,theatre going, bowling, bridge, private theatricals, chess and so on.Please check with a cross. And are you a high-brow; if so, why? Is itart, books, languages, or the snare drum?"

  "Don't forget the poker fiends and the movie fans," I puts in.

  Mrs. Bill writes that down. "We will have to begin by electing ourselvesan organizing committee," says she, "and we will need a small printingfund."

  "I'll chip in ten," says Mr. Blake.

  "So will we," says Vee.

  "And I am sure Bill will, too," says Mrs. Fairfield, "which will bequite enough to print all the cards we need. And tomorrow evening wewill get together in our apartment and make out the questionnairecomplete. Shall we?"

  So when we left to catch a late train for Long Island it looked likeWest Hundred and Umpty Umpt street was going to have something newsprung on it. Course, we didn't know how far these two young coupleswould get towards reformin' New York, but they sure was in earnest,'specially young Mrs. Bill, who seems to have more or less common sensetucked away between her ears.

  That must have been a week or ten days ago, and as we hadn't heard fromany of them, or seen anything in the papers, we was kind of curious. Sohere yesterday I has to call up Lucy Lee on the 'phone.

  "Say," says I, "how's that block sociable progressin'?"

  "Oh, perfectly wonderful!" says Lucy Lee. "Why, at our first meeting, ina big dance hall, we had nearly 300 persons and were almost swamped. ButEsther is a perfect wizard at organizing. She got them into groups inless than half an hour, and before we adjourned they had formed allkinds of clubs and associations, from subscription dance clubs to a LordDunsany private theatrical club. Everyone in the block who didn't turnout at first has been clamoring to get in since and it has been keepingus busy sorting them out. You've no idea what a difference it makes uphere. Why, I know almost everybody in the building now, and some of themare really charming people. They're beginning to seem like realneighbors and I don't think we shall ever pass another dull eveningwhile we live here. Even folks across the street have heard about it andwant Esther to come over and organize them."

  So I had quite a bulletin to take home to Vee.

  "Isn't that splendid!" says she.

  "Anyway," says I, "I guess you started something. If it spreads enough,maybe New York'll be almost fit to live in. But I have my doubts."