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Updated: August 25, 2024
"I told you he was a bad boy." "Are you?" says Zenobia. "Well," says I, "that all depends on how you size me up. I ain't in the crook class, nor I don't wear any Sunday-school medals, either." "Who are you?" says she. "Why, just Torchy," says I. "See torch, Torchy," and I points to my sunset coiffure. "But who are your parents?" she goes on.
Ballard, by a private secretary who has mastered the art of funding, mutual and otherwise, until he can do it backward with one hand tied behind him. Torchy, will you step here a moment?" I was comin' too; but Mr. Ballard waves me off. "Stop!" says he. "I'll not listen to a word of it.
And then Well, she's here, Torchy; came yesterday, and I presume she expects to see me to-night." "That's encouragin', anyway," says I. But Mallory don't seem so much cheered up. It turns out that Sis is spendin' a few days with friends here, waitin' for the rest of the fam'ly to come on and sail for Europe. They're givin' a farewell dinner dance for her, and Skid is on the list.
Robert's cue to shoot off something snappy from Bernard Shaw; but just about then he's busy cuttin' across in front of a big coastin' schooner, and all he remarks is: "Hey, Torchy! Trim in on that main sheet. Trim in, you duffer! Pull! That's it. Now make fast." Nothin' fancy about Mr. Robert's yachtin' outfit.
"Not so poetic as Crimson Rambler," says I, "but easier to remember." Hearty chuckles from Joey. "You're all right, Torchy," says she, rumplin' my hair playful. Not at all hard to get acquainted with, Joey. One of the free and easy kind that gets to call men by their front names durin' the first half-hour. But somehow them's the ones that always seem to hang longest on the branch. You've noticed?
Might have covered up a bit high sign necessary, side entrances only, and all that. But you can't run New York without joy water. It's here. And so are the gay lads and lassies who uncork it. We want to mingle with 'em, 'Chita and yours truly. I want her to see the lights where they're brightest, the girls where they're gayest. Want to show her how the wheels go 'round. You get me; eh, Torchy?"
Wants to see some of the old places again. And by the great cats, she shall! No matter what my fool doctors say, Torchy, I mean to take a night or two off when she comes. If Bonnie can stand it I guess I can, too." "Yes, sir," says I, grinnin' sympathetic. Well, that was 1:15 a.m. And at exactly 2:30 he limps out with his hand to his right side and his face the color of cigar ashes.
Accordin' to the rules, there'd got to be some one. "Torchy," says she, "I don't see why you couldn't take me, as well as anyone else." "Thanks," says I, "but I don't want to earn my release that way. I've got 'em trained down to the office so they'll stand for a lot; but me ringin' in a matinée durin' business hours would sure break the spell." "Oh, pshaw!" says she.
But you understand, Torchy, I am asking this information of you as my private secretary. I er it will be treated as confidential." "Sorry, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but you know about as much of it as I do." "Which is quite enough," says he, "for me to decide that the Corrugated can dispense with the services of this Hollis person at once. You will notify Mr. Piddie to that effect."
He was scared mostly, and he was doin' all the sympathizin' for himself that was needed. All of a sudden he braces up and looks at his watch. "Perhaps you didn't get there in time?" says he. "With the letter and package?" says I. "Watcher take me for? Think I got mucilage on my shoes? I was there on time, all right." "Oh, mercy!" says he. "Torchy, I'm a ruined man."
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