Torchy Part 18

CHAPTER IX

DOWN THE b.u.mPS WITH CLIFFY

Say, if you read in the papers to-morrow about how the Chicago Limited was run on a siding and a riot call wired back to the nearest Chief of Police, you needn't do any guessin' as to what's happened. It'll be a cinch that Clifford's gettin' in his fine work; for the last I saw of him he was headed West, and where he is there's trouble.

But you mustn't tear off the notion that Clifford's a Mr. Lush, that goes and gets himself all lit up like a birthday cake and then begins to mix it. That ain't his line. He's one of the camel brand. The nearest he ever gets to red liquor is when he takes bottled grape juice for a spring tonic; but for all that he can keep the cops busier'n any thirsty man I ever saw.

First glimpse I gets of him was when I looks up from the desk and sees him tryin' to find a break in the bra.s.s rail. And say, there wa'n't any doubt about his havin' come in from beyond where they make up the milk trains. Not that he wears any R. Glue costume. From the nose pinchers, white tie, and black cutaway I might have sized him up as a cross between a travelin' corn doctor and a returned missionary; but the ear m.u.f.fs and the umbrella and the black felt lid with the four-inch brim put him in the tourist cla.s.s. He was one of your skimpy, loose-jointed parties, with a turkey neck that had a lump in front and wa'n't on good terms with the back of his coat collar. Two of his front teeth was set on a bias, givin' him one of these squirrel mouths that keeps you thinkin' he's just goin' to bite into an apple.

I watched him a minute or so without sayin' anything, while he was pawin' around for the gate sort of absent minded, and when I thinks it's about time to wake him up I sings out:

"Say, Profess, you're on the right side of the fence now; let it go at that."

"Ah--er--I beg pardon," says he.

"Well," says I, "that's a good start."

"I--er--I beg----" says he.

"You've covered that ground," says I. "Take a new lead."

That seems to rattle him more'n ever. He hangs his umbrella over one arm, peels off a brown woolen mitt, and fishes a card out of his inside pocket. "This is the--ah--Corrugated Trust Building, is it not?" says he.

"It is, yes," says I; "but the place where you cash in your scalper's book ticket is down on the third floor."

"Oh!" says he. "Thank you very much," and he starts to trot out. He has his hand on the k.n.o.b, when a new thought comes to him. He tiptoes back to the gate, pries off one of the ear m.u.f.fs, and leans over real confidential. "I didn't quite understand," says he. "Did you say Cousin Robert's was the third door?"

"Chee!" says I. "Willie, take off the other one, so you can get a good healthy circulation through the belfry."

The words seemed to daze him some; but he tumbled to my motions and unstoppered his south ear.

"Now," says I, "what's this about your Cousin Bob? Where'd you lose him?"

Watcher think, though? I gets it out of him that he's come all the way from Bubble Creek, Michigan, and is lookin' for Mr. Robert Ellins. With that I lets him through, plants him in a chair, and goes in to the boss.

"Say," says I to Mr. Robert, "there's a guy, outside that's just floated in from the breakfast food belt and is callin' for Cousin Robert. Here's his card."

"Why, that must be Clifford!" says he.

"Then it's true, is it, the cousin business?" says I.

"Certainly it is, Torchy," says he. "Why not?"

"Oh, nothin'," says I. "I wouldn't have thought it, though."

"It isn't at all necessary," says Mr. Robert. "Bring him in at once."

"I guess I can spare him," says I. Then I goes back and taps Cousin Clifford on the shoulder. "Cliffy," says I, "you're subpoened. Push through two doors and then make yourself right to home."

Course anyone's liable to have a freak cousin or so knockin' round in the background, and I s'pose it was a star play of Mr. Robert's, givin'

the glad hand to this one; but if I'd found Clifford hangin' on my fam'ly tree I'd have felt like gettin' out the prunin' saw.

Maybe Mr. Robert was a little miffy because I hadn't been a mind reader and played Clifford for a favorite from the start. Anyway, he jumps right in to feature him, lugs him off to the club for lunch, and does the honors joyous, just as though this was something he'd been lookin'

forward to for months.

I was beginnin' to think I'd made a wrong guess on Clifford, and the awful thought that maybe for once I'd talked too gay was just tricklin'

through my thatch, when we gets our first bulletin. Cliffy was due back to the office about four-thirty, havin' gone off by his lonesome after lunch; but at a quarter of five he don't show up. It was near closin'

time when Mr. Robert gets a 'phone call, and by the worried look I knew something was up.

"Yes," says he, "this is Robert Ellins. Yes, I know such a person.

That's right--Clifford. He's my cousin. No, is that so? Why, there must be some mistake. Oh, there must be! I'll come up and explain. Yes, I'll sign the bail bond."

He didn't have a word to say when he turns around and catches me grinnin'; but grabs his hat and coat and pikes for the green lights.

There wa'n't any call for me to do any rubberin' next day, or ask any questions. It was all in the mornin' papers: how a batty gent who looked like a disguised second story worker had collected a crowd and blocked traffic on Fifth Avenue by standin' on the curb in front of one of the Vanderbilt houses and drawin' plans of it on a pad.

Course, he got run in as a suspect, and I guess Mr. Robert had his troubles showin' the desk sergeant that Clifford wa'n't a Western crook who was layin' pipes for a little jimmy work. Cliffy's architect tale wouldn't have got him off in a month, and if it hadn't been that Mr.

Robert taps the front of his head they'd had Clifford down to Mulberry-st. and put his thumb print in the collection.

He was givin' it to 'em straight, though. Architectin' was what Cliffy was aimin' at. He'd been studying that sort of thing out in Michigan, and now he was makin' a tour to see how it was done in other places, meanin' to polish off with a few months abroad. Then, after he'd got himself well soaked in ideas, maybe he'd go back to Bubble Creek, rent an office over the bank, and begin drawin' front elevations of iron foundries and double tenements.

That's what comes of havin' rich aunts and uncles in the fam'ly, and duckin' real work while you wait for notice from the Surrogate to come on and take your share. It wa'n't a case of hustle with Clifford. I suspicioned that his bein' an architect was more or less of a fad; but he was makin' the most of it, there was no discountin' that. He'd laid out a week to put in seein' how New York was built, high spots and low, and he went at it like he was workin' by the piece.

Now, say, there ain't no special harm in goin' around town gawpin' at lib'ries and office buildin's and churches. 'Most anyone could have done it without b.u.mpin' into trouble; but not Cliffy. It was wonderful how he dug up ructions--and him the mildest lookin' four-eyed gent ever let loose. And green! Say, what sort of a flag station is Bubble Creek, anyway?

Askin' fool questions was Cliffy's specialty. You see, he'd made out a list of buildin's he thought he wanted to take a look at; but he hadn't stopped to put down the street numbers or anything. And when he wants information does he hunt up a directory or a cop? Oh, no! He holds up anyone that's handy, from a white wings dodgin' trucks in the middle of Madison Square, to a Wall Street broker rushin' from 'Change out to a directors' meetin'. He seems to think anybody he meets knows all about New York, and has time to take him by the hand and lead him right where he wants to go, whether it's the new Custom House down town, or Grant's Tomb up on the drive. Throw downs don't discourage him any, either. Two minutes after he's been told to go chase himself he'll b.u.t.t right in somewhere else and call for directions.

The worst of it was that he couldn't remember what he was told for more'n three minutes on a stretch. We found out these little tricks of Clifford's after he'd been makin' the office his headquarters for a couple of days.

First mornin' we started him out early for the Battery, to size up the Bowling Green Buildin' and the Aquarium. About noon he limps in with his hat all dirt and ashes up and down his back. From the description he gives we figure out that he's been somewhere up on Washington Heights and has got into an argument with a janitor that didn't like being rung up from the bas.e.m.e.nt and asked how far it was to Whitehall-st.

Well, we fixes him up, writes out all the partic'lars of his route on a card, and gives him a fresh send-off. It wa'n't more'n half an hour afterwards that I was out on an errand, and as I cut through 22d-st.

back of the Flatiron I sees a crowd. Course, I pushes in to find out what was holdin' up all the carriages and bubbles that has to switch through there goin' north. Somehow I had a feelin' that it might be Clifford. And it was!

He was in the middle of the ring, hoppin' around lively and wavin' that umbrella of his like a sword. The other party was the pilot of a hansom cab that had climbed down off his perch and was layin' on with his whip.

I hated to disturb that muss; for I had an idea Cliffy was gettin' about what was comin' to him, and the crowd was enjoyin' it to the limit. But I see a couple of traffic cops comin' over from Broadway; so I breaks through, grabs Clifford by the arm, and chases him down the avenue, breathin' some hard but not much hurt.

"Chee!" says I, "but you're a wonder! Was you tryin' to buy an eight-mile cab ride for a quarter?"

"Why, no," says he. "I merely stopped the man to ask him where the nearest subway station was, and before I knew it he became angry. I'm sure I didn't know----"

"That's the trouble with you, Cliffy," says I, "and if you don't get over it you'll be hurt bad. Where's that card we made out for you?"

"I--I must have lost that," says he.

"What you need is a guide and an accident policy," says I. "Better let me tow you back to the office, and you can talk it over with Mr.

Robert."