Torchy, Private Sec. Part 35

Buz-z-z-z! goes the front doorbell, right in the middle of Mr. Ballard's story, and in comes Lizzie sayin' it's someone to see me. For a second I couldn't think who'd be huntin' me up here at this time of the evenin'.

And then I remembered,--Dorsett.

"It--it's an uncle of mine," says I to Zen.o.bia, "a reg'lar uncle."

"Why," says she, "I didn't know you had one."

"Me either," says I, "until the other day. He just turned up. Could I take him into the libr'y?"

"Of course," says Zen.o.bia.

I was kind of sorry he'd come. I hadn't been so chesty over Uncle Bill at the office; but here, where things are sort of quiet and cla.s.sy--well, I could see where he wouldn't show up so strong. Besides, I hadn't made up my mind just how I was goin' to turn down his proposition.

I towed him in, though. He was glancin' around the room approvin', and makin' a few openin' remarks, when the folks come strollin' out from the dinin'-room. I glances up, and sees Mr. Ballard just as he's about to pa.s.s the door. So does Dorsett. And, say, the minute them two spots each other things sort of hung fire and stopped. Dorsett he breaks short off what he's sayin', and Mr. Ballard comes to a halt and stands starin' in the room. Next I know he's pushed in, and they're facin' each other.

"Pardon me, Sir," says Ballard, "but didn't you cross with me on the _Lucania_ once? And weren't you thick with d.i.c.k Ballard?"

Course I could see something coming right then; but I didn't know what it was. Mr. Dorsett's shifty eyes take another look at Ballard, and then he hitches uneasy in his chair.

"Rather an odd coincidence, isn't it?" says he. "Yes, I was on board that trip."

"Then you're one of the men I've been looking for a good many years,"

says Ballard. "You knew d.i.c.k very well, didn't you? Then perhaps you can tell me who he left that boy of his with when he went West?"

"Why, yes," says Dorsett, smilin' fidgety. "He--er--the fact is, he left him with me."

"With you, eh?" says Ballard. "I might have guessed as much. Well, Sir, where's the boy now?"

"Wha-a-at?" gasps Dorsett, lookin' from me to Mr. Ballard. "Where, did you say?"

"Yes, Sir," comes back Ballard snappy. "Where?"

More gasps from Dorsett. But he's good at duckin' trouble. With a wink at me and a chuckle he remarks: "Torchy, suppose you tell the gentleman where you are?"

Well, say, it was some complicated unravelin' we did durin' the next few minutes, believe me; but after Zen.o.bia and Martha had been called in, and Dorsett has done some more of his smooth explainin', we all begun to see where we were at.

"Torchy," says Zen.o.bia at last, "bring down from your room that little gold locket you've always had."

And when Mr. Ballard has opened it and held the picture under the readin' light, he winds up the whole debate as to who's who.

"It's Irene, of course," says he. "Poor girl! But she had her day, after all. Married a French army officer, you know, and for a while they were happy together. Then the war. He was dropped somewhere around Rheims, I believe. Then I heard of her doing volunteer work at a field hospital.

She lasted a month or so at that--typhus, or a German sh.e.l.l, I don't know which. But she's gone too."

And me, I stands there, listenin' gawpy, with my eyes beginnin' to blur.

It's Zen.o.bia, you might know, who notices first. She steps over and gathers me in motherly. Not that I needs it, as I know of, but--well, it was kind of good to feel her arm around me just then.

"We'll find out all about it later; won't we, Torchy?" she whispers.

Meanwhile Mr. Ballard has swung on Dorsett. "So you were trying to pose as Uncle Bill, were you?" he demands. "Well, Sir, you're just about the caliber of man d.i.c.k would choose to put his trust in! But I'll bet a thousand you were not finding it so easy to fool his boy here! Going, are you? This way, Sir."

"At that, though," says I, as the door shuts after Dorsett, "he had me guessin'."

"Yes," says Mr. Ballard, "he would, any of us."

"And I don't see," I goes on, "as I got any fam'ly left, after all."

"You--you don't, eh, you young scamp?" says Mr. Ballard. "Well, as there's no doubt about your being my nephew's boy, I'd like to know why I don't qualify as a perfectly good great-uncle to you!"

"Why, that's so!" says I, grinnin' at him. "I--I guess you do. And, say, if you don't mind my sayin' so, you'll do fine!"

So what if Uncle Bill did turn out a ringer! He was more or less useful, even if he did gum up the plot there for a while. Uh-huh! Mighty useful!

For there's nothin' phony about my new Uncle Kyrle, take it from me!

CHAPTER XIV

HOW AUNTY GOT THE NEWS

Say, I expect it ain't good form to get chesty over your relations, specially when they're so new as mine; but I've got to hand it to Mr.

Kyrle Ballard. After three weeks' tryout he shapes up as some grand little great-uncle, take it from me!

First off, you know, I had him card indexed as havin' more or less tabasco in his temper'ment, with a wide grumpy streak runnin' through his ego. And he is kind of crisp and snappy in his talk, I'll admit.

Strangers might think he was a grouch toter. But that's just his way.

It's all on the outside. Back of that gruff, offhand talk and behind them bushy, gray eyebrows there's a lot of fun and good nature. One of the kind that's never seemed to grow up, Uncle Kyrle is, sixty-odd and still a kid; always springin' some josh or other, and disguisin' the good turns he does with foolish remarks. And to hear him string Aunt Martha along from one thing to another is sure a circus.

"Good morning, Sister Martha," says he, blowin' in to a late Sunday breakfast, all pinked up in the cheeks from a cold tub and a clean shave. "I trust that you begin the day with a deep conviction of sin?"

"Why, I--I suppose I do, Kyrle," says she, gettin' fussed. "That is, I try to."

"Good!" says Uncle Kyrle. "It is important that some one in this family should recognize that this is a sad and wicked world, with Virtue below par and Honest Worth going baggy at the knees. Zen.o.bia here has no conviction of sin whatever. Mine is rather weak at times. So you, Martha, must do the piety for all of us. And please ring for the griddle cakes and sausage."

Then he winks at Zen.o.bia, gives his grapefruit a sherry bath, and proceeds to tackle a hearty breakfast.

A few days after him and Zen.o.bia got back from their runaway honeymoon trip he calls her to the front door. "There's a person out here who says he has a car for you," says he.

"Nonsense!" says Zen.o.bia. "Why, I haven't ordered a car."

"The impudent rascal!" says Uncle Kyrle. "I'll send him off, then. The idea!"

"Oh, but isn't it a beauty?" says Zen.o.bia, peekin' out. "Let's see what he says about it first."

So they go out to the curb, while Uncle Kyrle demands violent of the young chap in charge what he means by such an outrage. At which the party grins and shows the tag on the steerin' wheel.

"Why!" says Zen.o.bia. "It has my name on it. Oh, Kyrle, you dear man!

I've a notion to hug you."

"Tut, tut!" says he. "Such a bad example to set the neighbors! Besides, this young man may object. He has a Y. M. C. A. certificate as a first-cla.s.s chauffeur."