On With Torchy Part 45

"Monster!" she bowls. "Deceiver! Leave me, never let me see your face again! Oh--oh! Cheese! Six children! Oh--oh!" With that she tumbles over on Whity and turns purple in the face.

Say, it was some sensation we had there for a few minutes; but after they'd sprinkled her face, and rubbed her wrists, and poured a couple of fingers of brandy into her, she revives. And the first thing she catches sight of is Virgie, standin' there lookin' puzzled, still holdin' the soup ladle.

"Monster!" she hisses at him. "I know all--all! And I quit you forever!"

With that she dashes for the cloakroom, grabs her opera wrap, and beats it for the elevator. Course, that busts up the show, and inside of half an hour everybody but us has left, and most of 'em went out snickerin'.

"I--I don't understand it at all," says Virgie, rubbin' his eyes dazed.

"She was talking with you, wasn't she, Friend Whity? Was it something you said about me?"

"Possibly," says Whity, "I may have mentioned your cheese factories; and I'm not sure but what I didn't invent a family for you. Just as a joke, of course. You don't mind, I hope?"

And at that I was dead sure someone was goin' to be slapped on the wrist. But, say, all Virgie does is swallow hard a couple of times; and then, as the full scheme of the plot seems to sink in, he beams mushy.

"Mind? Why, my dear boy," says he, "you are my deliverer! I owe you more than I can ever express. Really, you know, that ridiculous old person has been the bane of my existence for the last three weeks. She has fairly haunted me, spoiled all my receptions, and--disturbed me greatly. Ever since I met her in Rome last winter she has been at it.

Of course I have tried to be nice to her, as I am to everyone who--er--who might help. But I almost fancy she had the idea that I would--ah--marry her. Really, I believe she did. Thank you a thousand times, Whity, for your joke! If she comes back, tell her I have two wives, a dozen. And have some cigars--oh, fill your pockets, my boy.

And here--the photos showing me in my monk's costume. Be sure to drop in at my next tea. I'll send you word. Good night, and bless you!"

He didn't push us out. He just held the door open and patted us on the back as we went through. And the next thing we knew we was down on the sidewalk.

"Double crossed!" groans Whity. "Smothered in mush!"

"As a plotter, Whity," says I, "you're a dub. But if you gunked it one way, you drew a consolation the other. At this stage of the game I guess I'm commissioned by a certain party to hand over to you a small token of his esteem."

"Eh?" says Whity. "Twenty? What for?"

"Ah, go bull the market with it, and don't ask fool questions!" says I.

Say, it was a perfectly swell story about Virgie's bouillabaisse function on today's society page, double-column half-tone cut and all.

I had to grin when I shows it to Mr. Ellins.

"Were you there, young man?" says he, eyin' me suspicious.

"Yep!" says I.

"I thought so," says he, "when Cousin Inez came home and began packing her trunks. I take it that affair of hers with the sculptor poet is all off??'

"Blew up with a bang about ten-thirty P. M.," says I. "Your two tenspots went with it."

"Huh!" he snorts. "That's as far as I care to inquire. Some day I'm going to send you out with a thousand and let you wreck the administration."

CHAPTER XVII

TORCHY GETS A THROUGH WIRE

First off, when I pipes the party in the pale green lid and the fuzzy English topcoat, I thought it was some stray from the House of Lords; but as it drifts nearer to the bra.s.s rail and I gets a glimpse of the mild blue eyes behind the thick, sh.e.l.l-rimmed gla.s.ses, I discovers that it's only Son-in-law Ferdy; you know, hubby to Marjorie Ellins that was.

"Wat ho!" says I. "Just in from Lunnon?"

"Why, no," says Ferdy, gawpin' foolish. "Whatever made you think that?"

"Then it's a disguise, is it?" says I, eyin' the costume critical.

"Oh, bother!" says Ferdy peevish. "I told Marjorie I should be stared at. And I just despise being conspicuous, you know! Where's Robert?"

"Mr. Robert ain't due back for an hour yet," says I. "You could catch him at the club, I expect."

"No, no," protests Ferdy hasty. "I--I wouldn't go to the club looking like this. I--I couldn't stand the chaff I'd get from the fellows.

I'll wait."

"Suit yourself," says I, towin' him into Mr. Robert's private office.

"You can shed the heather wrap in here, if you like."

"I--I wish I could," says he.

"Wha-a-at!" says I. "She ain't sewed you into it, has she? Anyhow, you don't have to keep it b.u.t.toned tight under your chin with all this steam heat on."

"I know," says Ferdy, sighin'. "I nearly roasted, coming down in the train. But, you see, it--it hides the tie."

"Eh?" says I. "Something else Marjorie picked out? Let's have a peek."

Ferdy blushes painful. "It's awful," he groans, "perfectly awful!"

"Not one of these nutty Futurist designs, like a scrambled rainbow shot full of pink polliwogs?" says I.

"Worse than that," says Ferdy, unb.u.t.tonin' the overcoat reluctant.

"Look!"

"Zowie! A plush one!" says I.

Course, they ain't so new. I'd seen 'em in the zippy haberdashers'

windows early in the fall; but I don't remember havin' met one out of captivity before. And this is about the plushiest affair you could imagine; bright orange and black, and half an inch thick.

"Whiffo!" says I. "That is something to have wished onto you! Looks like a caterpillar in a dream."

"That's right," says Ferdy. "It's been a perfect nightmare to me ever since Marjorie bought it. But I can't hurt her feelings by refusing to wear it. And this silly hat too--a scarf instead of a band!"

It's almost pathetic the way Ferdy holds the lid off at arm's length and gazes indignant at it.

"Draped real sweet, ain't it?" says I. "But most of the smart chappies are wearin' 'em that way, you know."

"Not this sickly green shade, though," says Ferdy plaintive. "I wish Marjorie wouldn't get such things for me. I--I've always been rather particular about my hats and ties. I like them quiet, you understand."

"You would get married, though," says I. "But, say, can't you do a duck by changing after you leave home?"

Seems the idea hadn't occurred to Ferdy. "But how? Where?" says he, brightenin' up.