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Updated: May 21, 2025
So I had quite a bulletin to take home to Vee. "Isn't that splendid!" says she. "Anyway," says I, "I guess you started something. If it spreads enough, maybe New York'll be almost fit to live in. But I have my doubts." It ain't often Mr. Robert starts something he can't finish. When he does, though, he's shifty at passin' it on. Yes, I'll say he is.
What is the number of his regiment?" Miss Casey reels it off, addin' the company and division. "Really!" says Vee. "Why, that's the company Captain Woodhouse commands. You remember him, Torchy?" "Oh, yes! Woodie," says I. "I'd most forgotten him." "I am going to call him up on the long distance right now," says Vee. And in spite of all my lay-off signals she does it. Gets the captain, too.
"You're to dress and come on deck." "Eh?" says I. "Have we been U-boated or Zepped? All right; I'll be there in two minutes." And I finds Vee costumed businesslike in a middy blouse and khaki skirt, stowin' things away in a picnic hamper. "What's the plot of the piece?" I asks, yawny. "Auntie and Mr. Ellins haven't come back yet," says she. "It's after three o'clock. Something must have happened."
By this time the bell buzzes again, and Helma shows in a dumpy little woman with partly gray hair and Baldwin apple cheeks evidently a friend of Auntie's by the way they go to a clinch. "Mrs. Mumford," says Vee. "Auntie's donation to the party, eh?" says I. "Just listen to her coo!" "S-s-sh!" says Vee, snickerin'.
As it happens, Vee and I has the luncheon table to ourselves that day, neither Auntie nor Mr. Ellins havin' shown up, and the others bein' all through. And somehow Vee always does have that look of well, as though she'd just blown in from the rose garden. You know, kind of clean and crisp and and honeysuckley. Maybe it's that pinky-white complexion of hers, or the simple way she dresses.
"Unless they can get as excited over the cotton market as Stanley does." "The poor youngsters!" says Vee. "They might as well be visiting on a desert island, for Marge knows hardly anyone in the place but us." She's a great one for spillin' sympathy, and for followin' it up when she can with the helpin' hand.
I can't say I was crazy over 'em. She's a little mouse of a woman, big eyed and quiet, but Vee seems to like her. Pyne, he's a tall, slim gink with stooped shoulders and so short sighted that he has to wear extra thick eyeglasses. He'd come over to work for some book publishin' house but it seems he wrote things himself.
He rightened it yet further with sixpence, and left that band loudly at feud over the spoil. "Oh, Vee! Vee the strategist," he chuckled. "We'll pull Vee's leg to-night." Our freckled friend of the barriers doubled up behind us. "So you know that my battalion is charging down the ground," Bayley demanded. "Not for certain, Sir, but we're preparin' for the worst," he answered with a cheerful grin.
Bright little thought of yours." "Pooh!" says Vee. "Besides, there was an express package the driver forgot to deliver. It must be that new floor lamp. Bring it out, will you, Torchy?" And by the time I'd retrieved this bulky package from the express agent and stowed it inside, all the other commuters had boarded their various limousines and flivver taxis and cleared out.
So before daylight this morning I slipped out the front door. I'm not going back, either. I I'm looking for work." "For work!" says Vee, starin' first at me and then at Helma. "You absurd little thing! Why, how old are you?" "I was twelve last month, Miss," says Helma, bobbin' polite. "And you've been out since daylight?" demands Vee. "Where did you have breakfast and luncheon?"
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