On With Torchy | Page 6

pay you for that. You will think

horrid things of me, will you? There!"
She does things in a flash when she cuts loose too. Next I knew she has
her fingers in what Eulalia calls my crimson crest and is rumplin' up all
them curls I'd been so careful to slick back. I grabbed her wrists, and it
was more or less of a rough-house scene we was indulgin' in, when all
of a sudden the draperies are brushed back, and in stalks Aunty, with
Cousin Eulalia trailin' behind.
"Ver-ona!" Talk about havin' a pitcher of cracked ice slipped down
your back! Say, there was more chills in that one word than ever blew
down from Medicine Hat. "What," goes on Aunty, "does this mean?"
"It--it's a new game," says I, grinnin' foolish.
"As old as Satan, I should say!" raps out Aunty.
"Why," squeals Cousin Eulalia gushy, "here is our Unknown Knight,
the first to come back with his tribute! Let's see, what was it you said
you were going to do? Oh, I know--take a chance on something fresh,
wasn't it? Well?"
"Ye-e-es," says I. "And I guess I did."
"Trust him for that!" snorts Aunty. "Young man, at our last interview I
thought I made it quite clear that I should not expect you to return?"
"That's right," says I, edgin' around her towards the door. "And you
wa'n't, was you?"
Some glance she shot over; but it didn't prove fatal. And as I rides
down I couldn't help swappin' a wink with the elevator boy.
"Feelin' frisky, eh?" says he. "So was them other young guys. One of
'em tipped me a half."
"That kind would," says I. "They're comin' back. I'm escapin'."
But, say, who do you guess wins out for Wednesday night? Ah, rattle

'em again! Eulalia fixed it up. Said it was Vee's decision, and she was
bound to stick by the rules of the game, even if they did have to throw a
bluff to Aunty. Uh-huh! I've got three orchestra seats right in my
pocket, and a table engaged for supper afterwards. Oh, I don't know.
Eulalia ain't so batty, after all.
CHAPTER II
PULLING A SLEUTH STUNT
Trust Piddie for workin' up wild suspicions. Say, he can't find a stray
sheet of scribblin' paper on the floor without pouncin' sleuthy on it and
tryin' to puzzle out the hidden meanin'.
So when I get the buzzer call to Old Hickory's private office and finds
him and the main stem waitin' in solemn conclave there, I guesses right
off that Piddie's dug up a new one that he hopes to nail me with. Just
now he's holdin' a little bunch of wilted field flowers in one hand, and
as I range up by the desk he shoots over the accusin' glance.
"Boy," says he, "do you know anything about these?"
"Why, sure," says I. "They're pickled pigs' feet, ain't they?"
"No impudence, now!" says he. "Where did they come from?"
"Off'm Grant's Tomb, if I must guess," says I. "Anyway, I wouldn't
think they was picked in the Subway."
And at this Old Hickory sniffs impatient. "That is quite enough comic
diversion, young man!" he puts in. "Do you or don't you know anything
about how those things happened to get on my desk?"
"Me?" says I. "Why, I never saw 'em before! What's the dope?"
"Huh!" he grunts. "I didn't think this was any of your nonsense: too
tame. And I suppose you might as well know what's afoot. Tell him, Mr.
Piddie."

Did you ever see a pinhead but what just dotes on springin' a sensation?
Piddie fairly gloats over unloadin' it. "This," says he, holdin' up the
wilted bunch, "is the unaccountable. For the fourth time flowers of this
description have been mysteriously left on Mr. Ellins' desk. It is not
done after hours, or during the night; but in broad day, sometimes when
Mr. Ellins is sitting just where he is now, and by a hand unseen. Watch
has been kept, yet no one has been detected; and, as you know, only a
few persons have free access here. Still the thing continues. At regular
periods these absurd bouquets appear on this desk, seemingly from
nowhere at all. Hence this inquiry."
I'd heard Piddie spout a good many times before, but never quite so
eloquent, and I expect I was gawpin' at him some dazed and admirin'.
"Well," says Old Hickory, squintin' sharp at me from under his bushy
eyebrows, "what have you to offer?"
"It's by me," says I, shruggin' my shoulders.
"Oh, come now!" he goes on. "With that high tension brain of yours,
surely you can advance some idea."
"Why," says I, "offhand I should say that some of them mushy lady
typists out there might