Wilt Thou Torchy Part 48

"Eh?" says I. "Why, that's fine--I mean, for Auntie. Ripping, eh, what? Much obliged."

The foxy old girl. She'd never mentioned it. And if I hadn't found out just as I-- But I did. It simplifies things a lot. That is, it would unless-- Here I grabs the 'phone again and calls up Vee.

"Auntie's going out to dinner to-night," says I.

"Yes, I know," says Vee. "She has just told me. I am not included."

"Then whisper," says I. "Revise that wardrobe trunk of yours like you expected a cold winter in Jamaica. Have a bag ready, too, and a traveling dress handy."

"But why, Torchy?" she insists.

"Leave it to me," says I. "We'll be up about 8:30."

"We?" she asks.

"Now be good," says I, "and you may be happy. Also get busy."

You see, I figured that what she didn't know she couldn't worry about, nor discuss with Auntie. Besides, it was all too hazy in my head for me to sketch it out very clear to anyone.

Honest, I don't see now how I kept from gettin' things bugged, for I sure was crashin' ahead reckless. I felt like I'd been monkeyin' with a flyin' machine until I'd got it started and had been caught somewhere in the riggin' with n.o.body at the wheel. But I was glad of it.

Mr. Robert helped out wonderful. When I stops packin' my suitcase long enough to remark, "But say, if it does work, where am I headed for?"

he's right there with the useful information.

"Here!" says he. "Your tickets and drawing-room reservation. It's a nice little place up in Vermont--quiet, refined, comfortable, all that sort of thing. Train at 10:45."

"Oh!" says I. "Then that's all right. Lemme see, where's that other sock?"

Say, I'd even forgot who all I'd asked to be on hand. That was what I was checkin' up when I rode past Auntie's floor on the elevator. I finds Vee some excited and more or less curious.

"Please," says she, "what is it all about?"

"It's a little game," says I, "ent.i.tled ditching Jamaica. There'll be some of our friends here directly to join in."

"Torchy," says Vee, starin' a bit scared, "you--you mean that-- Anyway, I should change my frock, I suppose?"

"If you do," says I, "couldn't you make it that pink one, with the flimsy pink hat?"

"You goose!" says she. "If you like, though. Why, there is someone now!"

"That'll be Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins," says I. "You'll have to show speed."

Trust Vee. Just the' same, I don't know where there's another girl that could dress for the big event in less'n half an hour, while the guests was arrivin'. Next came Mr. Robert's sister, Marjorie, towin'

her Ferdie along. Aunt Zen.o.bia and my Uncle Kyrle and Aunt Martha breezed in soon after, with Old Hickory and Mrs. Ellins right behind 'em. Then Piddie, who'd put on his evenin' clothes over in Jersey at 5:30 and had been on the trolley most of the time since.

No, it wasn't a big mob, but it was a heap better than havin' some Connecticut parson call in wifie and the hired girl, as I'd first planned it.

And prompt at 9:30 the Reverend Percey shows up, some out of breath from his dash across from the subway, but ready to shoot his lines as soon as he got his hat off. While he didn't quite have to do that, we didn't waste much time on settin' the stage.

"Come on, Vee," says I, takin' her by the hand. "How about over there in our old window alcove, eh? Tum tum-te-tum!"

She holds back just a second. Then she tosses her chin up, smiles brave at me, and gives my fingers a squeeze. Say, she's some girl.

Another minute and the Reverend Percey is off with a flyin' start. He ain't so husky to look at, but he booms out the "Wilt-thou" stuff real impressive and solemn, part of the time peekin' over his gla.s.ses at the folks behind, and then lookin' earnest at us. For an off-hand performance I call it a good job. And almost before I knew it was under way it's all over.

"Well, Vee," says I, plantin' a smack in the right place, "we've done it!"

"I--I wish Auntie knew," says she.

"But she does," says Mr. Robert. "At Torchy's request I have just called her up. She will be here in less than half an hour."

"With her blessin'--or what?" I asks.

"As to that," says Mr. Robert, "I am not informed."

Anyway, we had time to brace ourselves. Vee had only finished changing and the bags was bein' sent down to the taxi when in she comes.

"Young man--" she begins.

But I heads her off.

"Why, Auntie!" says I, lettin' on to be surprised, and holdin' out both hands. "You don't know how we missed you. Honest! All my fault, though. But say, with your stickin' to that years-and-years idea, what else could we do--I ask you?"

And then I notices that them straight-cut mouth corners of hers ain't set near so hard as I thought. Her eyes ain't throwin' off sparks, either. They're sort of dewy, in fact. And when she does speak again there's a break in her voice.

"Come," says she, beckonin' us up. "Perhaps you know best, after all, you silly children."

I'll bet we made a fine group, too, the three of us, Auntie in the middle, givin' us the fond clinch.

"But such impudence of you, to do it right here!" she goes on. "No one but you, Torchy, would have thought of that."

"Had to," says I, "with everything else barred. I suspected it might b.u.mp you some, but--"

"Pardon me," breaks in Mr. Robert, "but it's time for you to start for your train."

"Train!" says Vee. "Torchy, where are we going?"

"Just a sec.," says I, "till I look at the tickets."

So the last I heard from Auntie was a gasp.