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I'll bet it's been fifty-fifty, you young rough-houser," I'll say. "Who do you like best around this joint, anyway?" "Buddy," is always the answer. "And next?" I'll demand. "Mamma," he'll say. "Hey, where do I come in?" I'll ask, shakin' him. Then he'll screw up his mouth mischievous and say: "Torchy come in door. Torchy, Torchy!" I'll admit Vee ain't so strong for all this.
That's his own way of sayin' his name and mostly we call him that. Course, he answers to others, too; such as Old Scout, and Snoodlekins, and young Rough-houser.
He had just come from a call at the bedside of Jerry Durand and he felt a healthy respect for the man who could do what this light-stepping young fellow had done to the champion rough-houser of New York. The story Jerry had told was of an assault from behind with a club, but this Collins did not accept at par.
"Rough-houser!" says I, moppin' my eye with the napkin. "If your Auntie can't train you, maybe she'll let me try." "Oh, no doubt she would," says Vee. "I might ask her," I suggests. "I'd love to be around when you did," says she, rollin' her eyes impish. "Meanin' I wouldn't dare, eh?" says I.
In the story papers it is always the quiet, mild-mannered man with light blue eyes and a low voice who turns out to be really dangerous; but in real life and in this story such is not the case. Give me my choice between assaulting a large, loudmouthed rough-houser and an inoffensive stranger with blue eyes sitting quietly in a corner, and you will see something doing in the corner every time.
"He's old General Rough-houser, and he set an altogether new mark in disorderly conduct last night. Letty 'most cried about it." "Yeah? Those yokels are all alike one drink and they declare a dividend." Lucky was only mildly concerned. "I s'pose the vultures picked him clean." "Nothin' like it," Bridges shook his head. "He gnawed 'em naked, then done a war-dance with their feathers in his hat.
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