"That'll be welcome news for Jaky, all right," says I.



CHAPTER XIX

WHEN MISS VEE THREW THE DARE

Say, I guess I might as well tell it right out; for, from all I hear about myself, my dome must have a glass top that puts all the inside works on exhibition. There's Zenobia, for instance, who's my half-step-adopted aunt, as you might say. Now, she ain't one to sleuth around, or cross-examine, or anything like that; but what she's missed of this little affair that I ain't breathed a word of to anybody is more'n I've got the nerve to ask.

Course, it was her put that corkin' silver frame on Vee's picture in the first place. Just found it on my bureau, you know, and, without pumpin' me for any account of who and why, goes and unbelts reckless for the sterling decoration. A perfectly nice old girl, Zenobia is, if you ask me. More'n a year ago that was, and there hasn't been a word passed about that photo since.

Yes, it's been on the bureau all the time. Why not? When a young lady friend of yours is dragged off to Europe by her aunt, and sends you a stunnin' picture of herself for you to remember her by, you don't turn it face to the wall or chuck it in the ashcan, do you? Maybe two years it would be, she said, before she came back. It ain't so long to look over your shoulder at; but when you come to try squintin' ahead that far it's diff'rent. I tried it and gave it up. A whole lot can happen in two years; so what was the use? Besides, look who she is, and then think of all I ain't!

Couldn't help seein' the picture there night and mornin', though, could I? Nothin' mushy about glancin' casual at it now and then, was there? You know I ain't got any too many friends,—not so many I has to have a waitin' list,—and outside of Zenobia and Aunt Martha, and here and there one of the lady typewriters at the office that throws me a smile on and off, they're mostly men. And as for fam'ly, mother, or father, or sisters, or brothers, or real aunts—well, you know how I'm fixed. I'm the whole fam'ly myself.

So you see, when I looks at Miss Vee there, and thinks how nice she was to me them two times when we met by accident,—once at the dance where I was subbin' in the cloakroom, and again at the tea where I'd been sent to trail Mr. Robert—well, even if she hadn't been such a queen, I don't think I'd forgot her right away. Course, though, as for figurin' out why she ever noticed me at all, that's a myst'ry I had to pass up.

Must have been soon after she went away that I begun sizin' up some critical the gen'ral style and get up of the party whose hair I was combin' and whose face I was washin' more or less reg'lar. Startin' with the collar, I discovered that mine gen'rally had saw edges, gaped in the middle, and got some soiled about the third day. From then on I've been particular about havin' a close front collar and puttin' on a fresh one every mornin', whether I need it or not. Next I got wise to the fact that one tie wouldn't last more'n six months without showin' signs of wear, and it wa'n't long before I had quite a collection hangin' over the gasjet. Up to then I didn't have the tooth powder habit very strong; but it's chronic with me now. See the result?

I didn't stop to give myself reasons for gettin' so finicky; but the one main fact loomin' up ahead seemed to be that some day or other Miss Vee would be comin' back, and that maybe I might be on hand to sort of—well, you know how you'll frame things up? I was to be vice president of the Corrugated by that time, most likely, and they'd be sendin' me abroad to look up important matters. That's how it was goin' to happen that I'd find out where Vee was stayin'. Not that I'd think of buttin' in on her and the aunt. Not much! Just remember I'd seen Aunty!

No, I was to be on the steamer, leanin' over the rail careless, when they came aboard to go home. I was to be costumed all in gray. I don't know just why; but it looks kind of distinguished, specially if you've got gray hair. Not that I could count on my ruddy thatch frostin' up much in a couple of years; but somehow nothing but gray seemed to fill the bill. I'd planned on gettin' one of them gray tweed suits such as Mr. Robert wears back from London, and a long gray ulster that'd make me look tall, and a gray cloth hat to match, and gray gloves. Get the picture?

Well, there I am by the rail, lookin' sort of distinguished and bored and all that, when up comes Miss Vee and Aunty. All I could think of Vee wearin' was that pink silk affair she had on at the dance, which wouldn't be exactly what a young lady'd start out on an ocean trip with, would it?

She'd be some jarred at seein' me, it's likely; but I'd lift the gray lid real dignified, throw back the ulster so she'd get the full effect of the tweed suit, and shoot off some remark about how "one always meets one's most chawming friends when one travels." Then I'd be presented to the aunt; and after that was over, why it would be just a romp down the home stretch, with yours truly all the entry in sight. Simply a case of me and Vee promenadin' the deck by moonlight for hours and hours, and gettin' to be real old friends.

But pipe dreams like that don't often come true, do they? I ain't got so far as ownin' a pair of gray gloves, and not a word has been said about makin' me vice president, when along comes this foreign picture postcard, showin' the Boss de Bologna on one side, and on the other this scribbled message:

We sail for home on the 10th. Rah! Rah! Count Schlegelhessen is coming over with us. He's a dear. V. A. H.

Jolted! Say, I was up and down so many times durin' the next few hours I'd most meet myself comin' and goin'. Miss Vee was on her way over! I'd bounce at that thought, and get all kind of warmed up inside. Count Schutzenfest is coming with her, and he's a dear! Bang! I'd strike bottom again, with a chilly feelin' under my vest.

Wa'n't anything more'n I might have looked for, of course. Aunty's one of the kind that would pick out a Count for Miss Vee, and there was plenty of Counts over there to be picked; but somehow I couldn't picture Vee goin' wild over one of them foreign ginks. It was clear she had, though. There it was on the postcard, "He's a dear!"

"Huh!" thinks I. "Most of 'em are dear—at any price."

It wa'n't for hours, either, that I simmers down enough for the thought to strike me that I didn't have any special license to hold a court of inquiry over whether Miss Vee was comin' back with a Count or not. After that I had time to debate with myself whether I ought just to forgive and forget, goin' through life cold and sad; or if I should hide my busted heart the best way I could and pretend I didn't care.

Was there any use in my goin' down to the pier and standin' in the background to watch her come ashore with her dear Count? I could see myself! Oh, yes, I had it all doped out along them lines! As Robert Mantell would put it over, "She has went out of muh life for-r-r-rever." Ah yes! I could have stood for anything but one of them sausage Counts.

So I stows her picture away in the bottom bureau drawer, burns the postcard, and dodges Zenobia's eye when she looks at me curious. It was all over. Yet I knew to an hour when her steamer would dock, and the mornin' of the day it was due I rolls out of the feathers at six A.M. Just as natural as could be too, I gets out the new safety razor I'd had hid away for a couple of months past, and inside of fifteen minutes I'd had my first shave. Does that get by them keen eyes of Zenobia! Not for a minute!

"Ah!" says she, pattin' me sort of casual on one cheek as she comes down to breakfast.

That's all; but she not only takes in the shave, but the best blue serge suit I've put on, and the birthday tie, and the Sunday shoes. I only grins sheepish and slides out as soon as I can.

You see, accordin' to my plans, I wouldn't have gone near that steamer for any sum you could name. That being the case, it was odd I should call up the pier and find out if the boat was on time at Quarantine. Also it was some strange the way I opened up on Piddie.

"Say, Mr. Piddie," says I, "any prospects of an outside run for me to-day?"

"Not in the least," says he. "I suppose, though, you would like a chance to waste some of the company's time on the street?"

"Me?" says I. "Why, I'd hate it. I was only afraid I'd have to go, with all this inside work to be done."

"Humph!" says he. "You needn't fear. I shall see that nothing of the sort happens."

"Ah, you're a bird, you are!" says I.

"Perhaps," says Piddie.

"Then climb a tree and twitter," says I; for it made me grouchy to think I'd let a bonehead like him get a rise out of me.

The more I chewed it over, though, the stronger I was for breakin' loose about dockin' time. Maybe I didn't want to go to the pier; but if he was bent on throwin' the gate on me, that was another proposition. I got sorer and sorer and I was on the point of chuckin' the job at Piddie's head and walkin' out on my own hook, when who should come stormin' in, scowlin' and grumblin' to himself, but Mr. Robert. And he had a worse attack than I did.

"Torchy," says he, wheelin' around halfway to his office, "ring up Pier Umpty-nine and find out when that blasted steamer is due."

"The Kaiser boat?" says I. "She'll dock about two-forty-five."

"Eh?" says he, some startled. "Now, how the——Never mind, though. Sure about the time, are you?"

"Yep," says I.

"Dash it all!" says he. "That's Marjorie, though! Any word from the Consolidated Bridge people yet?"

"Not yet," says I, and slam goes his door.

Took me three minutes by the clock to dope out the combination too, which shows how gummed up my gears was. But when I'd fitted them two remarks together, about Marjorie and the bridge people, and had remembered the cablegram from Sister Marjorie sayin' how their party'd been broken up on account of sickness and she was comin' home alone—why, it was all like readin' it off a bulletin. Marjorie's arrivin' durin' business hours was likely to mess up the schedule. Course, if the bridge concern didn't send word——

I'd got to that point, when in drifts my old A. D. T. runnin' mate, Hunch Leary, draggin' his feet behind him and chewin' gum industrious. Now Hunch don't look like a tempter. He's plain homely, that's all. But comin' just as he did, with Piddie over there glarin' at me suspicious—well, I just had to do it.

"Sure I got blanks on me?" says Hunch. "Wot then?"

Right under Piddie's nose he fixes it up too, and waits while I takes the phony message in to Mr. Robert. It wa'n't such a raw one, either; not as if it had sent him off to wait at some hotel. "Will try to get around about two-thirty Trimble," was all it said. And how did we know Trimble wouldn't try, anyway?

"That settles it," says Mr. Robert, crumplin' the yellow sheet. "Torchy, you must do the family honors."

"Do which?" says I, with business of great surprise.

"Meet my sister Marjorie, see that she gets through the customs without landing in jail, and take her home in a taxi. Think you're equal to it, eh?" says he.

"I could make a stab," says I.

"I'll risk that much," says he.

And before there's any chance for a revise I've marched by Piddie with my tongue out and am pikin' towards the North River with a pier pass in one pocket and expense money in another, specially commissioned to meet the very steamer that's bringin' in Miss Vee and her Count. All of which shows how curious things will coincide if you use your bean a little to help 'em along.

Well, you know how it is waitin' in a push of people for a steamer. Everybody's excited and anxious and keyed up, ready to jump at every whistle, and stretchin' their necks for a peek down the river. It's as catchin' as the baseball fever when you're in a mob watchin' the scores posted. I finds myself actin' just as eager as any, and me only doin' messenger work.

Finally the boat shows up; but instead of sailin' in graceful and prompt, she shuts off steam and lays to out in the middle of the river, about as lifeless as a storage warehouse afloat, while a dozen or so dinky tugs begin pushin' and pullin' to get her somewhere near the pier. Then folks start makin' wild guesses as to which is their friends.

"There's Uncle Fred, Willie!" squeals a fat woman next to me, proddin' me vigorous in the ribs.

"Not mine, ma'am," says I.

"Oh, excuse me," says she. "Why, there's Willie, over there. Hey, Willie! See Uncle Fred?"

It was that way all around me, and me not even doin' the wave act. After awhile though, I spots Marjorie. There was no doubt about it being her; for she looms up among that crowd along the rail like a prize Florida orange in a basket of lemons. It's plain Marjorie ain't lost any weight by her trip abroad, and she looks more like a corn fed Juliet than ever.

As she wa'n't expectin' me, but was huntin' for Brother Robert, I didn't see the sense in shoutin'. I went on lookin' over the rest of the passengers, sort of bracin' myself for any discovery I might make. Would they show up arm in arm, or with their heads close together, or how?

I'd looked the boat over from bow to stern and back again about three times before I happens to take another glance at Marjorie. And there, almost hid by one side of her, was a young lady in a white sailor hat with some straw colored hair showin' under the wide brim, and a pair of gray eyes that I couldn't mistake anywhere. It was Vee, all right; just as slim and graceful and classy as ever, with the same independent tilt to her chin, and the same Mayflower pink showin' in her cheeks.

And, say, I want to tell you that about then I was glad I came! It didn't make any difference if there was half a dozen Counts, and a Duke and what not besides; just seein' her once more, even if I didn't get a chance to put over a word, was worth while. And right there I makes up my mind that, Count or no Count, I'm goin' to push to the front.

"Oh, you Miss Vee!" I megaphones through my hands, just as enthusiastic as anybody on the pier.

About the third call catches her ear. She sort of starts and gazes at the crowd kind of puzzled. There's such a mob, though, she don't pick me out. I could see her turn to Marjorie and say something, and then I gets wise to the fact that the four-eyed gent with the bristly hair and the half gray set of shavin' brush mustaches, standin' next to Marjorie, was one of their party. Miss Vee leans over and passes along some remark to him, and he shrugs his shoulders and says something that makes 'em both laugh.

"If that's the Count," thinks I, "he's a punk specimen."

A couple of minutes later the boat comes alongside and the passengers break away from the rail to get in line for the gangplank. As I'm there to welcome Miss Marjorie Ellins, I has to post myself near the E section, and inside of fifteen minutes she's all through havin' her suitcase and steamer trunk pawed over, and leavin' the hold baggage to be claimed later, we streams out to where I had a cab waitin'.

"Is it all aboard, Miss Marjorie?" says I.

"Not yet," says she. "You see, I've asked Vee to come home with me for dinner—the girl I met on the steamer. You don't mind waiting, do you?"

Did I? Say, nobody would suspect it, I guess, by the grin I had on when she and Aunty and the four-eyed party comes trailin' out.

"Say, Miss Marjorie," says I, "is that Count Schutzenbund?"

"Schlegelhessen," says Marjorie, "and he's a perfect——"

"Yes, I've heard he was," says I. "Little antique, though, ain't he?"

"Why, he isn't forty!" says Marjorie. "And he's just too——"

There wa'n't time for any more bouquets, though; for the trio was too close. Must have been some of a surprise for Vee to see me waitin' there, and for a bit she don't seem to make out just who it is. That only lasts a second, though. Then them gray eyes of hers lights up, and them thin lips curls into a smile, and she holds out both hands in that quick way of hers.

"Why, it's Torchy, isn't it?" says she, half laughin'.

"Uh-huh," says I, lettin' the grin spread wider. "Can't shake the name or the hair."

"Never try," says she. "Look, Aunty, here's Torchy!"

"Torchy?" says the wide old girl, inspectin' me doubtful through her lorgnette. "Why, Verona, I don't remember——"

"Oh, yes, you do, Aunty," says Miss Vee. "Anyway, I've told you about him, and it's so jolly to have some one to meet us. Thank you, Torchy. Now let's see, Marjorie, how do we divide up? Aunty goes to her hotel—and—and where do you go, Count?"

"Me, I am—what you call—perplex," says the Count, and he sure looked it. "But where the young ladies go, there I will follow. Hein?"

He shrugs his shoulders again and puts on such a comical face that it's no wonder the girls giggled. And that one act maps out the Count for me. He's just one of them middle aged cut-ups that's amusin' to have around, if the sessions ain't too frequent. Follow the young ladies, would he? Say, there was only three inside seats to my taxi, and I hadn't planned on ridin' with the driver.

"Lemme fix that for you, Count," says I. "Hey, Cabby!" and I whistles up a second taxi. "What's the number, ma'am?" I asks of Aunty. "Oh, Perzazzer hotel. Get that, Mr. Shuffer? Here you are, Count, right in here!"

"But is it that—er—the young ladies, you see," he protests. "I haf bromise myself the bleasure to——"

"Yes, that'll be all right too," says I. "They'll do the followin', though, about a block behind. In you go, now!" and I shoves him alongside of Aunty, shuts the door, and gives the startin' signal.

Maybe it was a nervy thing, shuntin' the Count off like that, and Marjorie seems sort of disappointed and dazed to find he ain't comin' with us, but by the twinkle in Miss Vee's eyes I guessed I hadn't overplayed my part. Anyway, we had a nice chatty ride on the way up, with Marjorie doin' most of the chattin'. Looked like that was going to be about as far as I'd figure too, for there wa'n't a chance of my gettin' a word in edgewise; but when we fetched up in front of the Ellins' house Miss Vee breaks in with delay orders.

"No, Marjorie," says she; "you first. Run in and see if it's all right; and if there isn't a dinner party on, or a houseful of guests, I'll come. No, I shall wait until you do."

Course, she didn't plan it that way; but it gives me about six minutes that was all to the good.

"You didn't mind my sidetrackin' the Count, eh?" says I.

"It was lovely—and perfectly absurd!" says Vee. "You know he bores Aunty to death, and Aunty bores him. He had planned on meeting Marjorie's mother, too."

"Then I mussed things up, didn't I?" says I.

"I believe you did it purposely, you wretch!" says she, shakin' a finger at me.

"Who wouldn't?" says I. "See what I get by it!"

"Silly!" says she. "I've a mind to rumple those red curls."

"Go on," says I, takin' my hat off. "They'd wiggle for joy."

"Then I'll do nothing of the kind," says she. "You haven't even said you were glad to see me."

"I'm keepin' it a dead secret," says I. "What happened to Europe; was it on the fritz?"

"Poky," says she. "And they found out I was no musical genius, after all. Aunty's disgusted with me."

"She ought to take something for her taste," says I.

"Oh!" says she, tiltin' her head on one side. "Then you still approve of me?"

"That's the only motto on my wall," says I, "only I put it stronger."

"Silly!" says she once more.

And then—well, I was watchin' the pink spread up her cheeks, and was sort of gazin' into them big gray eyes, and gen'rally takin' one of them long, lingerin' looks; and we was both leanin' back not so very far apart, with the slides of the cab shuttin' everything else out—and then all of a sudden I heard her sort of whisper "Well?"—and—and—Ah, say! With a pair of cherry ripes as close as that, what else was there to do?

"Why, Torchy!" says she, jumpin' away. "What made you dare——Quick, now, here comes Marjorie. Over on the front seat! And—and perhaps I shall see you again sometime."

"Your eyesight'll be bad if you don't, Vee," says I. "Good-by."

Just before the Ellins' front door closed behind her I caught the wave of a handkerchief; so I guess she can't be so awful mad. Ride back to the office? Say, I paid off the taxi and floated down Fifth-ave. as light as if it was paved with gas balloons.

"Huh!" grunts Mr. Robert, after I'd made my report. "Brought home a steamer friend, did she? Who did you say it was?"

"Well, between you and me," says I, "it's Vee. You remember—the one at the girls' boardin' school tea party when——"

"Eh?" says he. "Ah, that one? Then it wasn't—er—exactly a hardship for you to meet this particular steamer, eh, Torchy?"

"Do I look it?" says I.

And Mr. Robert he winks back; for, as I happen to know, he's been there himself. It's that friendly wink though, that makes me remember puttin' up that game on him with the fake message, and somehow I felt cheap and mean. Here he was, treatin' me white and square, and I'd been handin' him a piece of fresh bunk.

"Mr. Robert," says I, standin' pigeontoed and flushin' up some, "you remember that message from the bridge people—Trimble, it was signed?"

"Oh, yes," says he. "He came, all right, about a quarter to three."

"Gee!" says I, and walks out.

For when things start comin' your way in clusters like that, what's the use tryin' to duck?

———————————————————————————————————-

EDGAR RICE BURROUGH'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

TARZAN THE UNTAMED

Tells of Tarzan's return to the life of the ape-man in his search for vengeance on those who took from him his wife and home.

JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN

Records the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan proves his right to ape kingship.

A PRINCESS OF MARS

Forty-three million miles from the earth—a succession of the weirdest and most astounding adventures in fiction. John Carter, American, finds himself on the planet Mars, battling for a beautiful woman, with the Green Men of Mars, terrible creatures fifteen feet high, mounted on horses like dragons.

THE GODS OF MARS

Continuing John Carter's adventures on the Planet Mars, in which he does battle against the ferocious "plant men," creatures whose mighty tails swished their victims to instant death, and defies Issus, the terrible Goddess of Death, whom all Mars worships and reveres.

THE WARLORD OF MARS

Old acquaintances, made in the two other stories, reappear, Tars Tarkas, Tardos Mors and others. There is a happy ending to the story in the union of the Warlord, the title conferred upon John Carter, with Dejah Thoris.

THUVIA, MAID OF MARS

The fourth volume of the series. The story centers around the adventures of Carthoris, the son of John Carter and Thuvia, daughter of a Martian Emperor.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK

———————————————————————————————————-

JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S STORIES OF ADVENTURE

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

THE RIVER'S END

A story of the Royal Mounted Police.

THE GOLDEN SNARE

Thrilling adventures in the Far Northland.

NOMADS OF THE NORTH

The story of a bear-cub and a dog.

KAZAN

The tale of a "quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky" torn between the call of the human and his wild mate.

BAREE, SON OF KAZAN

The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gallant part he played in the lives of a man and a woman.

THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM

The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and his battle with Captain Plum.

THE DANGER TRAIL

A tale of love, Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the North.

THE HUNTED WOMAN

A tale of a great fight in the "valley of gold" for a woman.

THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH

The story of Fort o' God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness is blended with the courtly atmosphere of France.

THE GRIZZLY KING

The story of Thor, the big grizzly.

ISOBEL

A love story of the Far North.

THE WOLF HUNTERS

A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness.

THE GOLD HUNTERS

The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds.

THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE

Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women.

BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY

A thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was made from this book.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

THE END