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Updated: June 25, 2025
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."
And say, it wa'n't so long ago that Abey was wearin' sky-blue pants and a Postal shield, trottin' out with messages from District Ten. But here he is, with a checked ulster and a five-dollar hat, writin' figures on a pad. "Hello, Motzie!" says I. "How long since they lets the likes of you inside the ropes?" "Hello, Torchy!" says he. "Got any orders?" "I'm lined with 'em," says I. "What's good?"
Torchy, I want you to tell me all about it. Come, now! Exactly what happened last night?" "Well," says I, "not being present myself I could hardly tell that. But I've got a good hunch." "What is it!" she insists.
"I don't miss any," says I. "There's the mound, too. It's big enough to hold forty truckloads." "Oh, there won't be that much," says she. "A few chests, perhaps. But think, Torchy, of digging up gold that has been lying there for a hundred years or more!" "I don't care how old it is," says I, "if it's the kind you can shove in at the receivin' teller and get credit for.
And right on schedule we makes a nine-thirty getaway three machines in all; for, while Marjorie had thrown seventeen cat fits when she first heard that Brother Robert had renigged, she shows up with Ferdie at the last minute. Catch her missin' out on any kind of a weddin'! "But just where, Robert," she demands, "is this absurd affair to take place?" "Haven't the least idea," says he. "Ask Torchy."
Martha Hadley, why in the name of nonsense are you eating dinner with your hat on?" "Because," says Martha, beginnin' to sniffle, "I I'm going away." "But where? Why?" demands Zenobia. And between sobs Martha explains. She includes me in it too. "Then why aren't you wearing your hat also, Torchy?" asks Zenobia. "Well," says I, "I ain't so sure about quittin' as she is.
Course, I gives Mr. Ellins the whole tale in the mornin', about Tuttle and his bum air pumps, and his batty scheme of buildin' the flyer; but all that interests Old Hickory is the option and the price. "Good work, Torchy," says he. "I've wired our Western agents to investigate, and if they report an O. K., Tuttle shall have his two thousand to do what he likes with."
It ain't so much that she likes to boss other peoples' affairs as it is that she gets to have a real likin' for 'em and can't help tryin' to give 'em a boost. And she's 'specially strong for Ma Gummidge. "Do you know, Torchy," she tells me, "her disposition is really quite remarkable. She can be cheerful and good natured under the most trying circumstances."
Robert hangs up the desk 'phone and turns to me I catches him smotherin' a smile. "Torchy," says he, "are you a patron of the plastic art?" "Corns, or backache?" says I. "Not plasters," says he; "plastic; in short, sculpture." "Never sculped a sculpin," says I. "What's the joke?"
Ellins have a dinner party on in town." "Bother!" says Babe. "I was counting on him for an hour or so of billiards and another go at talking up the cruise. We'll land him yet, eh, Torchy? Hop in and I'll run you out home." So I climbs aboard, Babe opens the cut-out, and we make a skyrocket start. "How about swinging around the country club and back through the middle road?
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