Torchy and Vee, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  OLD HICKORY BATS UP ONE

  Anybody would most think I'd been with the Corrugated Trust long enoughto know that Old Hickory Ellins generally gets what he wants, whetherit's quick action from an office boy or a two-thirds majority vote fromthe board of directors. But once in a while I seem to forget, andshortly after that I'm wonderin' if it was a tank I went up against sosolid, or if someone threw the bond safe at me.

  What let me in wrong this last time was a snappy little remark I gotshot my way right here in the general offices. I was just back from athree-days' chase after a delayed shipment of bridge girders and steelwheelbarrows that was billed for France in a rush, and I'd got myselfdisliked by most of the traffic managers between here and Altoona, tosay nothing of freight conductors, yard bosses and so on. But I'duntangled those nine cars and got 'em movin' toward the North River, andnow I was steamin' through a lot of office detail that had piled upwhile I was gone. I'd lunched luxurious on an egg sandwich and a wardoughnut that Vincent had brought up to me from the arcade automat, andI'd 'phoned Vee that I might not be out home until the 11:13, when inblows this potty party with the poison ivy leaves on his shoulder strapsand demands to see Mr. Ellins at once. Course, it's me with my heelstogether doin' the zippy salute.

  "Sorry, major," says I, "but Mr. Ellins won't be in until 10:30."

  "Hah!" says he, like bitin' off a piece of glass. "And who are you,lieutenant!"

  "Special detail from the Ordnance Department, sir," says I.

  "Oh, you are, eh?" he snorts. "Another bomb-proofer! Well, tell Mr.Ellins I shall be back at 11:15--if this sector hasn't been captured inthe meantime," and as he double-quicks out he near runs down Mr. Piddie,our rubber-stamp office manager, who has towed him in.

  As for me, I stands there swallowin' air bubbles until my red-haireddisposition got below the boiling point once more. Then I turns toPiddie.

  "You heard, didn't you?" says I.

  Piddie nods. "But I don't quite understand," says he. "What did he meanby--er--bomb-proofer?"

  "Just rank flattery, Piddie," says I. "The rankest kind. It's his way ofindicatin' that I'm a yellow dog hidin' under a roll-top desk for fearsomeone'll kick me out where a parlor Pomeranian will look cross at me.Excuse me if I don't seem to work up a blush. Fact is, though, I'mgettin' kind of used to it."

  "Oh, I say, though!" protests Piddie. "Why, everyone knows that you----"

  "That's where you're dead wrong, Piddie," I breaks in. "What everybodyreally knows is that while most of the young hicks who've beenPlattsburged into uniforms are already across Periscope Pond helpin'swat the Hun, I'm still floatin' around here with nothing worse than cardust on my tailor-built khaki. Why, even them bold Liberty bond patriotswho commute on the 8:03 are tired of asking me when I'm going to be sentover to tell Pershing how it ought to be done. But when it comes to anold crab of a swivel chair major chuckin' 'bomb-proofer' in myteeth--well, I guess that'll be about all. Here's where I get a reviseor quit. Right here."

  And it was sentiments like that, only maybe worded not quite so brash,that I passed out to Old Hickory a little later on. He listens about assympathetic as a traffic cop hearin' why you tried to rush the stopsignal.

  "I think we have discussed all that before, young man," says he. "TheWar Department has recognized that, as the head of an essentialindustry, I am entitled to a private secretary; also that you mightprove more useful with a commission than without one. And I ratherthink you have. So there you are."

  "Excuse me, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but I can't see it that way. I don'tknow whether I'm private seccing or getting ready for a masquerade ball.Any one-legged man could do what I'm doing. I'm ready to chuck thecommission and enlist."

  "Really!" says he. "Well, in the first place, my son, a war-timecommission is something one doesn't chuck back at the United Statesgovernment because of any personal whim. It isn't being done. And thenagain, you tried enlisting once, didn't you, and were turned down?"

  "But that was early in the game," says I, "when the recruiting officersweren't passing any but young Sandows. I could get by now. Have a heart,Mr. Ellins. Lemme make a try."

  He chews his cigar a minute, drums thoughtful on the mahogany desk, andthen seems to have a bright little idea.

  "Very well, Torchy," says he, "we'll see what my friend, Major Wellby,can do for you when he comes in."

  "Him!" says I. "Why, he'd do anything for me that the law didn't stophim from."

  And sure enough, when the major drifts in again them two was shut in theprivate office for more'n half an hour before I'm called in. I couldguess just by the way the major glares fond at me that if he could workit he'd get me a nice, easy job mowin' the grass in No Man's Land, orsome snap like that.

  "Huh!" says he, givin' me the night court up and down. "Wants an activecommand, does he? And his training has been what? Four years as officeboy, three as private secretary! It's no use, Ellins. We're not fightingthis war with waste baskets or typewriters, you know."

  "Oh, come, major!" puts in Old Hickory. "Why be unreasonable about this?I will admit that you may be right, so far as it's being folly to sendthis young man to the front. But I do insist that as a lieutenant he israther useful just where he is."

  "Bah!" snorts the major. "So is the farmer who's raising hogs and corn.He's useful. But we don't put shoulder straps on him, or send him toFrance in command of a company. For jobs like that we try to findyoungsters who've been trained to handle men; who know how to get thingsdone. What we don't want is--eh? Someone calling me on the 'phone? Allright. Yes, this is Major Wellby. What? Oh, it can't be done today! Yes,yes! I understand all that. But see here, captain, that transport is dueto sail at--hey, central! I say, central! Oh, what's the use?"

  And as the major bangs up the receiver his face looks like a strawb'ryshortcake just ready to serve. Somehow Mr. Ellins seems to be enjoyin'the major's rush of temperament to the ears. Anyhow, there's a familiarflicker under them bushy eyebrows of his and I ain't at all surprisedwhen he remarks soothin': "I gather, major, that someone can't seem toget something done."

  "Precisely," says the major, moppin' a few pearly beads off his shinydome. "And when a regular army captain makes up his mind that a thingcan't be done--well, it's hopeless, that's all. In this instance,however, I fear he's right, worse luck!"

  "Anyway," suggests Mr. Ellins, "he has made you think that the thing isimpossible, eh?"

  "Think!" growls the major, glancin' suspicious at Old Hickory. "I say,Ellins, what are you getting at? Still harping on that red tape notion,are you? Perhaps you imagine this to be a case where, if you could onlyturn loose your wonderful organization, you could work a miracle?"

  "No, major," says Old Hickory. "We don't claim to work in miracles; butwhen we decide that a thing ought to be done at a certain time--well,generally it gets done."

  "Just like that, eh?" grins the major sarcastic. "Really, Ellins, youbig business men are too good to be true. But see here; why not tap youramazing efficiency for my benefit. This little job, for instance, whichone of our poor misguided captains reports as impossible within the timelimit. I suppose you would merely press a button and----"

  "Not even that," breaks in Mr. Ellins. "I would simply turn it over toTorchy here--and he'd do it."

  The major glances at me careless and shrugs his shoulders. "My dearEllins," says he, "you probably don't realize it, but that's the sort ofstuff which adds to the horrors of war. Here you haven't the vaguestidea as to what----"

  "Perhaps," cuts in Old Hickory, "but I'll bet you a hundred totwenty-five."

  "Taken," says the major. Then he turns to me. "When can you start,lieutenant?"

  "As soon as I know where I'm starting for, sir," says I.

  "How convenient," says he. "Well, then, here is an order on the New YorkTelephone Co. for five spools of wire which you'll find stored somewhereon Central Park South. See if you can get 'em."

  "Yes, sir," says I. "And suppose I can?"

  "R
eport to me at the Plutoria before 5:30 this afternoon," says he. "Ishall be having tea there. Ellins, you'd better be on hand, too, so thatI can collect that hundred."

  And that's all there was to it. I'm handed a slip of paper carrying theQuartermaster General's O. K., and while these two old sports are stillchucklin' at each other I've grabbed my uniform cap off the roll-top andhave caught an express elevator.

  Course, I expected a frame-up. All them army officers are hard boiledeggs when it comes to risking real money, and I knew the major mustthink his twenty-five was as safe as if he'd invested it in thriftstamps. As for Old Hickory Ellins, he'd toss away a hundred any time onthe chance of pulling a good bluff. So I indulges in a shadowy littlegrin myself and beats it up town.

  Simple enough to locate them spools of wire. Oh, yes. They're right inthe middle of the block between Sixth and Broadway, tucked awayinconspicuous among as choice a collection of contractor's junk as youcan find anywhere in town, and that's sayin' a good deal. But maybeyou've noticed what's been happenin' along there where Fifty-ninthstreet gets high-toned? Looks like an earthquake had wandered by, butit's only that down below they're connectin' the new subway with anotherEast river tunnel. And if there's anything in the way of old derricks,or scrap iron, or wooden beams, or construction sheds that ain't beenleft lying around on top it's because they didn't have it on hand toleave.

  Cute little things, them spools are, too; about six feet high, threewide, and weighin' a ton or so each, I should judge. And to make thejob of movin' 'em all the merrier an old cement mixer has been at workright next to 'em and the surplus concrete has been thrown out untilthey've been bedded in as solid as so many bridge piers. I climbs aroundand takes a look.

  "How cunnin'!" says I. "Why, they'd make the Rock of Ages look like aloose front tooth. And all I got to do is pull 'em up by the roots, oneat a time. Ha, ha! Likewise, tee-hee!"

  It sized up like a bad case of bee bite with me at the wrong end of thestinger. Still, I was just mulish enough to stick around. I had nearlythree hours left before I'd have to listen to the major's mirthsomecackle, and I might as well spend part of it thinkin' up fool schemes.So I walks around that cluster of cement-set spools some more. I evenclimbs on top of one and gazes up and down the block.

  They were still doing things to make it look less like a city street andmore like the ruins of Louvain. Down near the Fifth Avenue gates was thefenced-in mouth of a shaft that led somewhere into the bowels ofManhattan. And while I was lookin' out climbs a dago, unrolls a dirtyred flag, and holds up the traffic until a dull "boom" announces thatthe offensive is all over for half an hour or so. Up towards ColumbusCircle more industry was goin' on. A steam roller was smoothin' out astrip of pavement that had just been relaid, and nearer by a gang wastearin' up more of the asphalt. I got kind of interested in the way theywas doin' it, too. You know, they used to do this street wreckin' withpicks and crowbars, but this crowd seemed to have more modern methods.They was usin' three of these pneumatic drills and they sure wereripping it up slick and speedy. About then I noticed that theircompressor was chugging away nearly opposite me and that the lines ofhose stretched out fifty feet or more.

  "Say!" says I jerky and breathless, but to nobody in particular. I wasjust registerin' the fact that I'd had a sudden thought.

  A few minutes before, too, I'd seen a squad of rookies wander past andinto the park. I remembered noticin' what a husky, tanned lot they were,and from their hat cords that they belonged to the artillery branch.Well, that was enough. In a flash I'd shinned over the stone wall andwas headin' 'em off.

  You know how these cantonment delegations wander around town aimlesswhen they're dumped down here on leave waiting to be shunted off quietonto some transport? No friends, mighty little money, and nothing to dobut tramp the streets or hang around the Y. They actually looked kind ofgrateful when I stops 'em and returns their salute. As luck would haveit there's a top sergeant in the bunch, so I don't have to make areg'lar speech.

  "It's this way, sergeant," says I. "I'm looking for a few volunteers."

  "There's ten of us, sir," says he, "with not a thing on our hands buttime."

  "Then perhaps you'll help me put over something on a boss ditch digger,"says I. "It's nothing official, but it may help General Pershing a wholelot."

  "We sure will," says the sergeant. "Now then, men. 'Shun! And forgetthose dope sticks for a minute. How'll you have 'em, lieutenant--twos orfours?"

  "Twos will look more impressive, I guess," says I. "And just follow me."

  "Fall in!" says the sergeant. "By twos! Right about! March!"

  So when I rounds into the street again and bears down on this gangforeman I has him bug-eyed from the start. He don't seem to know whetherhe's being pinched or not.

  "What's your name, my man?" says I, wavin' the Q. M.'s orderthreatenin'.

  It's Mike something or other, as I could have guessed without him nearchokin' to get it out.

  "Very well, Mike," I goes on, as important as I knew how. "See thosespools over there that you people have done your best to bury? Well,those have been requisitioned from the Telephone Company by the U. S.army. Here's the order. Now I want you to get busy with your drill gangand cut 'em loose."

  "But--but see here, boss," sputters Mike, "'tis a private contractthey're workin' on and I couldn't be after----"

  "Couldn't, eh?" says I. "Lemme tell you something. That wire has to goon a transport that's due to sail the first thing in the morning. It'sfor the Signal Corps and they need it to stretch a headquarters' lineinto Berlin."

  "Sorry, boss," said Mike, "but I wouldn't dast to----"

  "Sergeant," says I, "do your duty."

  Uh-huh! That got Mike all right. And when we'd yanked him up off hisknees and convinced him that he wouldn't be shot for an hour or so yethe's so thankful that he gets those drills to work in record time.

  It was a first-class hunch, if I do have to admit it myself. You shouldhave seen how neat them rapid fire machines begun unbuttonin' those bigwooden spools, specially after a couple of our doughboy squad, who'dworked pneumatic riveters back home, took hold of the drills. Othersfished some hand sledges and crowbars out of a tool shed and helped thework along, while Mike encourages his gang with a fluent line of foremanrepartee.

  Course, I didn't have the whole thing doped out at the start, butgettin' away with this first stab only showed me how easy it was if youwasn't bashful about callin' for help. From then on I didn't let muchassistance get away from me, either. Yankin' the spools out to thestreet level by hookin' on the steam roller was my next play, butcommandeerin' a sand blast outfit that was at work halfway down theblock was all Mike's idea.

  "They need smoothin' up a bit, boss," says he.

  And inside of half an hour we had all five of them spools lookin' newand bright, like they'd just come from the mill.

  "What next, sir?" asks the sergeant.

  "Why," says I, "the fussy old major who's so hot for getting thesethings is waiting at the Plutoria, about ten blocks down. Maybe he wants'em there. I wonder if we could----"

  "Sure!" says the sergeant. "This heavy gun bunch can move anything.Here! I'll show 'em how."

  With that he runs a crowbar through the center of one of the spools,puts a man on either side to push, and rolls it along as easy aswheelin' a baby carriage.

  "Swell tactics, sergeant," says I. "And just for that I'm goin' toprovide your squad with a little music. Might as well do this in style,eh? Wait a minute."

  And it wasn't long before I was back from another dash into the parktowin' half a drum corps that I'd borrowed from some Junior NavalReserves that was drillin' over on the ballfield.

  So it was some nifty little parade that I finally lines up to lead downFifth Avenue. First there's me, then the drum corps, then the sergeantand his men rollin' them spools of wire. We strings out for more'n ablock.

  You'd think New Yorkers were so used to parades by this time that youcouldn't get 'em stretchin' their necks for anything less
'n a regimentof hand-picked heroes. They've seen the French Blue Devils at closerange, gawped at the Belgians, and chummed with the Anzacs. But, say,this spool-pushin' stunt was a new one on 'em. Folks just lined the curband stared. Then some bird starts to cheer and it's taken up all downthe line, just on faith.

  "Hey, pipe the new rollin' tanks!" shouts someone.

  "Gwan!" sings out another wise guy. "Them's wooden bombs they're goin'to drop on Willie."

  It's the first time I've been counted in on any of this hooray stuff,and I can't say I hated it. At the same time I tried not to look toochesty. But when I wheeled the procession into the side street and got'em bunched two deep in front of the Plutoria's carriage entrance Iain't sure but what I was wearin' kind of a satisfied grin.

  Not for long, though. The six-foot taxi starter in the rear admiral'suniform jumps right in with the prompt protest. He wants to know whatthe blinkety-blink I think I'm doin', blockin' up his right of way inthat fashion.

  "You can't do it! Take 'em away!" says he.

  "Ah, keep the lid on, old Goulash," says I. "Sergeant, if he gets messy,roll one of those spools on him. I'll be back shortly."

  With that I blows into the Plutoria and hunts up the tea room. Themajor's there, all right, and Mr. Ellins, also a couple of ladies.They're just bein' served with Oolong and caviar sandwiches.

  "Ah!" says the major, as he spots me. "Our gallant young officelieutenant, eh? Well, sir, anything to report?"

  "The spools are outside, sir," says I.

  "Wh--a--at!" he gasps.

  "Where'll you have 'em put, sir?" says I.

  About then, though, in trails the taxi starter, the manager and a braceof house detectives.

  "That's him!" says the starter, pointin' me out. "He's the one that'sblockin' traffic."

  I will say this for the major, though, he's a good sport. He comes rightto the front and takes all the blame.

  "I'm responsible," he tells the manager. "It's perfectly all right, too.Military necessity, sir. Well, perhaps you don't like it, but I'll haveyou understand, sir, I could block off your whole street if I wished. Soclear out, all of you."

  "Why, Horace!" puts in one of the ladies, grabbin' him by the arm.

  "Yes, yes, my dear," says the major. "I know. No scene. Certainly not.Only these hotel persons must be put in their place. And if you willexcuse me for a moment I'll see what can be done. Come, lieutenant. Iwant to get a look at those spools myself."

  Well, he did. "But--but I understood," says he, "that they were stuck inconcrete or something of the kind."

  "Yes, sir," says I. "We had to unstick 'em. Pneumatic drills and a steamroller. Very simple."

  "Great Scott!" says he. "Why didn't that fool captain think of---- But,see here, I don't want 'em here. Now, if we could only get them to Pier14----"

  "That would be a long way to roll 'em, sir," says I, "but it could bedone. Loadin' 'em on a couple of army trucks would be easier, though.There's a Quartermaster's depot at the foot of Fifty-seventh Street, youknow."

  "So there is," says he. "I'll call them up. Come in, will you,lieutenant and--and join us at tea? You've earned it, I think."

  Three minutes more and the major announces that the trucks are on theway.

  "Which means, Ellins," he adds, "that you win your twenty-five. Here youare."

  "If you don't mind," says Old Hickory, "I'll keep this and pass on myhundred to Torchy here. He might like to entertain his volunteer squadwith it."

  Did I? Say, when I got through showin' that bunch of far West artilleryhusks how to put in a real pleasant evening along Broadway there wasn'tenough change left to buy a sportin' extra. But they'd had chow in thegiddiest lobster palace under the white lights, they'd occupied twoboxes at the zippiest girl show in town and they was loaded down withcigarettes and chocolate enough to last 'em clear to France.

  The next mornin', when Old Hickory comes paddin' into the generaloffices, he stops to pat me friendly on the shoulder.

  "I think we have succeeded in revising the major's opinion," he remarks,"as to the general utility of bomb-proofers in certain instances."

  I grins up at him. "Then," says I, "do I get a recommend for active dutywithin jabbin' distance of the Huns?"

  "We did consider that," says Old Hickory, "but the decision was just asI suspected from the first. The major says it would be a shame to wasteyou on anything less than a divisional command, and there aren't enoughof those to go around. Chiefly, though, he thinks that anyone who isable to get things done in New York in the wizard-like way that you canshould be kept within call of Governor's Island. So I fear, Torchy,that you and I will have to go on serving our country right here."

  "All right, Mr. Ellins," says I. "I expect you win--as per usual."