Wilt Thou Torchy Part 20

Suppose you and Peters go back upstairs. You can leave Tidman, though."

"You--you're sure it is safe?" asks Waldo.

"Look at that grip of Mrs. Flynn's," says I.

After one skittish glance, Waldo does a quick exit. At that, though, Peters beat him to it.

"Tidman," says I, when they're gone, "we'll step out towards the back a ways and consult. Hold him a minute longer, Mrs. Flynn."

"I--I don't see why I should be dragged into this," whines Tidman, as I leads him towards the rear.

"Never mind," says I. "We're goin' to clear this all up right away.

Now, who is he, Tidman? Black-sheep brother, or what?"

Got a jump out of him, that jab did. But he recovers quick.

"Why, he's no relative at all," says Tidman. "I a.s.sure you that I never saw the--"

"Naughty, naughty!" says I. "Didn't I spot that peaked beak of his, just like yours? That's a fam'ly nose, that is."

"Cousin," admits Tidman, turnin' sulky.

"And sort of a blot on the escutcheon?" I goes on.

Tidman nods.

"Booze or dope?" I asks.

"Both, I think," says Tidman. "He--he has almost ruined my career."

"Pulls the Black Hand stuff on you, eh?" says I.

Tidman groans.

"I lost two positions because of him," says he. "It is only when he gets desperate that he hunts me up. I hadn't seen him for over two years until this morning. I'd been out for a walk, and he must have followed me. We were in the front vestibule, and he was begging, as usual,--threatening, too,--when I saw Mr. Pettigrew coming in. So I hurried Ralph through the hall and downstairs. I thought he could stay there until I was through tutoring; then I could give him something and send him off. But that Mrs. Flynn--"

"She's a swell short-stop," says I. "Doin' extra duty, too. Got a couple of fives on you?"

"Why, ye-e-es," says Tidman; "but what--"

"You're goin' to reward her for sittin' on Cousin Ralph so long," says I. "Give her one of the fives. You can slip the other to him as we shoo him through the back door. Now, let's go relieve Mrs. Flynn."

From the rough way we collared Ralph and led him off, she must have thought we was headin' him straight for Sing Sing. Anyway, that five-spot kept her mind busy.

Our remarks to Ralph were short but meaty. "You see the bally muss you got me into, I hope," says Tidman.

"And just remember," I adds, "when the fit strikes you to call again, that Mrs. Flynn is always on hand."

"She's a female hyena, that woman," says Cousin Ralph, rubbin' his back between groans. "I--I wouldn't get within a mile of her again for a fortune."

Couldn't have been more'n ten minutes before the three of us--Waldo, Tidman, and me--was all grouped in the lib'ry again, just as though nothing had happened.

"My hunch was right," says I. "He wasn't a burglar. Ask Tidman."

Tidman backs me up hearty.

"Then who the deuce was he," demands Waldo, "and what was he--"

"Now, say!" says I. "You've been let out, ain't you? He's gone; no police, no court proceedin's, no scandal in the servants' quarters.

Ain't that enough?"

"You're quite right," says Waldo. "And we still have time for that chapter of--"

"So you have," says I; "only you got to ditch this Toothpicketus work until you sign an order to your lawyers about sellin' that land. Here, lemme draft it off for you. Twelve words. Likely they'll want an O.

K. on the 'phone, too; but you won't mind that. Now your signature.

Thanks. And say, any time you and Tidman need a crude commercial mind to help you out, just send for me."

Uh-huh! By three o'clock next day we owned the whole of that Apache Creek tract and had the goods to shove at Ballinger.

Was it a smear? It was--a smear plus. Tickled? Why, Old Hickory came so near smilin' I was afraid that armor-plate face of his was goin' to crack.

But say, don't tell the National Real Estaters' League about that commission check he slipped me. I might lose my amateur standin'.

CHAPTER VIII

BREAKING ODD WITH MYRA

Next time I'll pay attention. For Vee must have mentioned how this Cousin Myra of hers was comin'. Yes, I remember now. Said something about her being an old-maid niece of Auntie's who was due to drift in from Bermuda or California or somewhere, and that she might stay over a few days.

But it was no solemn warning as it had a right to be. So, by the time I gets this sudden hunch the other night about runnin' up for a little unlisted chat with Vee, I must have forgotten. Not one of my regular evenin's, you understand, nor any special date: I was just takin' a chance. And when the maid tells me Miss Vee and Auntie have gone out for an after-dinner stroll on the Drive, I chucks my new felt-rim straw on the hall table and remarks careless that, as Auntie ain't likely to do any Marathon before bedtime, I guess I'll wait.

Helma grins. "Mees Burr, she in bookrary, yes," says she.

"Oh!" says I. "The cousin? That'll be all the better. Good chance for me to be gettin' in right with her. Tell her what to expect, Helma."

That's the sort of social plunger I am--regular drawing-room daredevil, facin' all comers, pa.s.sin' out the improvised stuff to strangers, and backin' myself strong for any common indoor event. That is, I was until about 8:13 that evenin'. Then I got in range of them quick-firin' dart throwers belongin' to Miss Myra Burr.

Say, there's some people that shouldn't be allowed at large without blinders on. Myra's one. Her eyes are the stabby kind, worse than long hatpins. Honest, after one glance I felt like I was bein' held up on a fork.

"Ouch!" says I, under my breath. But she must have heard.

"I beg pardon," says she. "Did you say something?"

"Side remark to my elbow," says I. "Must have caught the decreasing as I came through. Excuse it."

"Oh!" says she. "You are the young man who dances such constant attendance on Verona, are you?"