Wilt Thou Torchy Part 13

"By George!" says he. "I'm sure Warrie would feel badly if he missed seeing anyone from Sand Spur. You must let me know where you're stopping. I'll send him word."

"Wouldn't do a bit of good in the world," says Valentina, "for Ah'm not stopping anywhere. You see, Ah come up with pop on a lumber-schooner, and we'll be headed out past Sandy Hook by sunrise."

"Can't we locate Warrie to-night some way?" I asks.

Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders.

"We can," says he. "I happen to know where he is at this moment." Then he whispers, "Dining at the Tarleton; Miss Prentice is with him."

"Gee!" says I.

Maybe you've seen pictures of this young society queen that's annexed Warrie? I had. That's why I took such a long breath before askin', "Would you take a chance?"

"Eh?" says Mr. Robert.

Then, as the idea strikes in, he develops that eye twinkle.

"Why," he goes on, "I see no serious objection. Surely she might spare him for five minutes. Yes, of course. You may have my taxi if you'll drop me at the club first. Let's do it."

So that's how I come to be interviewin' a chesty head waiter at the Tarleton twenty minutes later. From where I stood I could see Warrie Mason well enough, but I has to write out a message and have it taken in. Him and Miss Prentice are havin' dinner all by themselves, and they sure make a swell-lookin' pair. Warrie he looks cla.s.sy in anything, but in evenin' clothes he's a reg'lar young grand duke; while Miss Prentice--well, she's one of these soft, pouty-lipped, droopy-eyed charmers, the kind you see bein' crushed against some manly shirt bosom on the magazine covers. I watches her nod careless as Warrie explains what's in the note, and the next minute he's out givin' me the cordial hail.

"What!" says he. "A friend from Sand Spur? By Jove! It--it can't be Valentina, can it?"

"She's the one," says I. "Goin' back early in the mornin' too, so I didn't know but you might like to step out and--"

"Step out nothing!" says he. "Bring her in. There's only Gladys, and we're just starting dinner. I want you both to join us."

"Wha-a-at?" I gasps. "Lug Valentina--in there!"

"Most certainly," says he.

"But see here, you big b.o.o.b," says I, "have you got any idea how she's costumed?"

He laughs. "Let's see," he goes on, "it ought to be a dark blue print with red polka dots. That used to be her Sunday dress."

"You win," says I. "The styles in Sand Spur ain't changed any. But this is Fifth Avenue, remember."

"Torchy," says he, droppin' one of his big paws on my shoulder, "what I shall always remember about Valentina Tozier is this: that when she picked me up out on the Gulf I was in a bad way. I'd been rolling around in a rummy old motor-boat for hours and hours, with a stalled engine, and a norther howling down the coast. Came sailing out in a crazy catboat, Valentina did, and towed me in. She knew nothing about who I was, mind you, but that made no difference to her or Pop Tozier.

From then on there wasn't anything in Sand Spur too good for me. And now--but where is she?"

Honest, in all I'd seen of him at the Corrugated, I'd never known Warrie Mason to act so much like a live one. There was no stopping him. Before I could register any more protests, he'd hauled Valentina out of the cab, taken her by the arm, and was steerin' her slam into the middle of the Tarleton's Looie Cans dinin'-room. The haughty head waiter lets out one gasp and steadies himself against a marble pillar.

As for Miss Prentice, she takes one look at what Warrie is towin' in, and goes pink in the ears. Then she stiffens, from the jaws down.

But Warrie don't seem to be wise to the fact that he's pullin' anything odd. He acts just as natural as if he'd picked up one of the younger set.

"Gladys," says he, "this is Valentina Tozier, that I've told you so much about. Valentina, I want you to know Miss Prentice."

"Ah!" says Gladys, a bit choky and archin' her eyebrows sarcastic.

"I--I recall the name."

You'd 'most thought Valentina would have been fussed to flinders about then; but, beyond actin' a little dazed, she don't show it. She lets a couple of French waiters peel off the faded ulster and the gray sweater, and, believe me, when the whole of that polka-dot costume is revealed she's some conspicuous. For a second it looked like Gladys was goin' to freeze with horror; but, after givin' Valentina the once-over, she just lifts her shoulders a trifle and indulges in a panicky little giggle.

[Ill.u.s.tration: For a second it looked like Gladys was goin' to freeze with horror; but she just gives Valentina the once-over and indulges in a panicky little giggle.]

Of the two of 'em, I will say that Valentina takes it easier, for that dinner dress of Miss Prentice's must have jarred her some. But Valentina only stares for a minute, and then manages to work up one of them friendly smiles.

Warrie don't get any of this by-play at all. Soon as he's through shootin' orders to the waiter, he turns to Valentina. "Well, well!"

says he enthusiastic. "This is a treat. Did you come up by train or steamer?"

"Schooner," says Valentina. "You know all that cypress you saw 'em yankin' out of the swamp back of the Point? Well, suh, it's lumber now, every stick. Sold, too. That's what me and pop came up for."

"You don't say!" says Warrie. "How much?"

"Near nine thousand," says she.

"Whe-e-e-ew!" says Warrie. "Now I suppose you'll be moving into Tampa."

"No," says Valentina; "we're fixin' to buy another swamp."

Then they both laughed, like it was some huge joke.

"But how is everyone?" goes on Warrie. "Uncle Jake still going out after stone-crabs?"

"Every mornin'," says Valentina. "And they're runnin' fine this winter, too. He put near a bushel on the schooner before we sailed.

We had 'em all the way up."

"M-m-m-m!" says Warrie, smackin' his lips. "Remember the ones we roasted that day?"

"'Deed I do," says she. "You didn't want to try 'em at first."

"Wasn't I all kinds of a chump, though?" says he. "And that first chicken pillau you made! Say!

"You know," says Warrie, turnin' to Gladys, "it was Valentina who actually knocked out that rheumatism of mine. Did it with Green Springs water and fresh limes. Awful dose! But inside of two weeks she had me rowing a boat."

"Really!" says Gladys, smotherin' a yawn.

"Don't you believe him, Miz Prentice," protests Valentina. "It was just livin' a month in Sand Spur. That would cure anyone of anything."

"Sand Spur!" echoes Gladys. "It must be a wonderful place."

Valentina and Warrie swaps grins.

"It's a dozen shacks strung along two snaky wagon ruts through the sand," says Valentina, "a few pines and live-oaks, a whole heap of razor-backs, and us Crackers dodgin' between. That's Sand Spur."

"Oh, a little more than that," breaks in Warrie. "You forget the roses and the yellow jasmine climbing over the shacks, the Spanish moss festooning the oaks, the mocking-birds singing from every tree-top, the black cypress behind the pines, and out front the jade-green Gulf where the sun goes down so glorious. You forget the brilliant mornings and the wonderful soft moonlight nights."

Well, that's the way them two went on, like a couple of kids talkin'

over a summer vacation. I gathered that Warrie had simply quit the sanatorium where he'd been played for a good thing, and settled down in Sand Spur with the Toziers; gettin' fat on the weird dishes Valentina could cook, and havin' the time of his life. Seems as if he'd made friends with the whole population, for he had to ask about all of 'em by their front names.