On With Torchy Part 37

She never says a word until we'd landed and everyone but me had started for the house. Then I got mine.

"Boy," says she icy, "take off that hat!"

I does it reluctant.

"Humph!" says she. "William! I thought so." That's all; but she says it mighty expressive.

The programme for the followin' day included a ten o'clock start, and I'd been down to the boat ever since breakfast, tidyin' things up and sort of wonderin'. About nine-fifteen, though, young Hollister comes wanderin' down by his lonesome.

"It's all off," says he. "Miss Verona and her aunt have gone."

"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "Gone?"

"Early this morning," says he. "I don't quite understand why; something about Verona's being out on the water so much, I believe.

Gone to the mountains. And--er--by the way, Tucker is around again.

Here he comes now."

"He gets the jumper, then," says I, peelin' it off. "I guess I'm due back on Broadway."

"It's mighty good of you to help out," says Payne, "and I--I want to do the right thing in the way of----"

"You have," says I. "You've helped me have the time of my life. Put up the kale, Hollister. If you'll land me at the Harbor, I'll call it square."

He don't want to let it stand that way; but I insists. As I climbs out on the Yacht Club float, where he'd picked me up, he puts out his hand friendly.

"And, say," says I, "how about Miss Vee?"

"Why," says he, "I'm very sorry she couldn't stay longer."

"Me too," says I. "Some girl, eh?"

Payne nods hearty, and we swaps a final grip.

Well, it was great! My one miscue was not wearin' a wig.

CHAPTER XIV

CUTTING IN ON THE BLISS

We thought it was all over too. That's the way it is in plays and books, where they don't gen'rally take 'em beyond the final clinch, leavin' you to fill in the bliss _ad lib_. But here we'd seen 'em clear through the let-no-man-put-asunder stage, even watched 'em dodge the rice and confetti in their dash to the limousine.

"Thank goodness that's through with!" remarks Mother, without makin'

any bones of it.

Course, her reg'lar cue was to fall on Father's neck and weep; but, then, I expect Mrs. Cheyne Ballard's one of the kind you can't write any form sheet for. She's a lively, bunchy little party, all jump and go and jingle, who looks like she might have been married herself only day before yesterday.

"I hope Robbie knows where she put those trunk checks," says Father, at the same time sighin' sort of relieved.

From where I stood, though, the guy who was pushin' overboard the biggest chunk of worry was this I-wilt boy, Mr. Nicholas Talbot. He'd got her at last! But, z-z-z-zingo! it had been some lively gettin'.

Not that I was all through the campaign with him; but I'd had glimpses here and there.

You see, Robbie's almost one of the fam'ly; for Mr. Robert's an old friend of the Ballards, and was bottle holder or something at the christenin'. As a matter of fact, she was named Roberta after him.

Then he'd watched her grow up, and always remembered her birthdays, and kept her latest picture on his desk. So why shouldn't he figure more or less when so many others was tryin' to straighten out her love affairs? They was some tangled there for awhile too.

Robbie's one of the kind, you know, that would have Cupid cross-eyed in one season. A queen? Well, take it from me! Say, the way her cheeks was tinted up natural would have a gold medal rose lookin' like it come off a twenty-nine-cent roll of wall paper. Then them pansy-colored eyes! Yes, Miss Roberta Ballard was more or less ornamental. That wa'n't all, of course. She could say more cute things, and cut loose with more unexpected pranks, than a roomful of Billie Burkes. As cunnin' as a kitten, she was.

No wonder Nick Talbot fell for her the first time he was exposed!

Course, he was half engaged to that stunnin' Miss Marian Marlowe at the time; but wa'n't Robbie waverin' between three young chaps that all seemed to be in the runnin' before Nick showed up?

Anyway, Miss Marlowe should have known better than to lug in her steady when she was visitin'. She'd been chummy with Robbie at boardin'

school, and should have known how dangerous she was. But young Mr.

Talbot had only two looks before he's as strong for Robbie as though it had been comin' on for years back. Impetuous young gent that way he was too; and, bein' handicapped by no job, and long on time and money, he does some spirited rushin'.

Seems Robbie Ballard didn't mind. Excitement was her middle name, novelty was her strong suit, and among Nick's other attractions he was brand new. Besides, wa'n't he a swell one-stepper, a shark at tennis, and couldn't he sing any ragtime song that she could drum out? The ninety-horse striped racin' car that he came callin' in helped along some; for one of Robbie's fads was for travelin' fast. Course, she'd been brought up in limousines; but the mile in fifty seconds gave her a genuine thrill.

When it come to holdin' out her finger for the big solitaire that Nick flashed on her about the third week, though, she hung back. The others carried about the same line of jew'lry around in their vest pockets, waitin' for a chance to decorate her third finger. One had the loveliest gray eyes too. Then there was another entry, with the dearest little mustache, who was a bear at doin' the fish-walk tango with her; not to mention the young civil engineer she'd met last winter at Palm Beach. But he didn't actually count, not bein' on the scene.

Anyway, three was enough to keep guessin' at once. Robbie was real modest that way. But she sure did have 'em all busy. If it was a sixty-mile drive with Nick before luncheon, it was apt to be an afternoon romp in the surf with the gray-eyed one, and a toss up as to which of the trio took her to the Casino dance in the evenin'. Mother used to laugh over it all with Mr. Robert, who remarked that those kids were absurd. n.o.body seemed to take it serious; for Robbie was only a few months over nineteen.

But young Mr. Talbot had it bad. Besides, he'd always got about what he wanted before, and this time he was in dead earnest. So the first thing Mother and Father knew they were bein' interviewed. Robbie had half said she might if there was no kick from her dear parents, and he wanted to know how about it. Mr. Cheyne Ballard supplied the information prompt. He called Nick an impudent young puppy, at which Mother wept and took the young gent's part. Robbie blew in just then and giggled through the rest of the act, until Father quit disgusted and put it square up to her. Then she pouted and locked herself in her room. That's when Mr. Robert was sent for; but she wouldn't give him any decision, either.

So for a week there things was in a mess, with Robbie balkin', Mother havin' a case of nerves, Father nursin' a grouch, and Nick Talbot mopin' around doleful. Then some girl friend suggested to Robbie that if she did take Nick they could have a moonlight lawn weddin', with the flower gardens all lit up by electric bulbs, which would be too dear for anything. Robbie perked up and asked for details. Inside of an hour she was plannin' what she would wear. Late in the afternoon Nick heard the glad news himself, through a third party.

First off the date was set for early next spring, when she'd be twenty.

That was Father's dope; although Mother was willin' it should be pulled off around Christmas time. Nick, he stuck out for the first of October; but Robbie says:

"Oh, pshaw! There won't be any flowers then, and we'll be back in town. Why not week after next?"

So that's the compromise fin'lly agreed on. The moonlight stunt had to be scratched; but the outdoor part was stuck to--and believe me it was some cla.s.sy hitchin' bee!

They'd been gone about two weeks, I guess, with everybody contented except maybe the three losers, and all hands countin' the incident closed; when one forenoon Mother shows up at the general offices, has a long talk with Mr. Robert, and goes away moppin' her eyes. Then there's a call for Mr. Cheyne Ballard's downtown number, and Mr. Robert has a confab with him over the 'phone. Next comes three lively rings for me on the buzzer, and I chases into the private office. Mr. Robert is sittin' scowlin', makin' savage' jabs with a paper knife at the blotter pad.

"Torchy," says he, "I find myself in a deucedly awkward fix."

"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I.

"No, no!" says he. "This is a personal affair, and--well, it's embarra.s.sing, to say the least."

"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I.

"It's about Roberta," says he.

"What--again?" says I. "But I thought they was travelin' abroad?"

"I wish they were," says he; "but they're not. At the last moment, it seems, Robbie decided she didn't care for a foreign trip,--too late in the season, and she didn't want to be going over just when everyone was coming back, you know. So they went up to Thundercaps instead."