Wilt Thou Torchy | Page 2

the curtain."
And if it hadn't been for interruptions like that we might have had a
perfectly good time. We generally do when we're let alone. To sort of
string the fun out I suggests goin' somewhere for tea. And it was while
we're swappin' josh over the toasted crumpets and marmalade that we
discovers a familiar-lookin' couple on the dancin' surface.
"Why, there's Doris!" says Vee.
"And the happy hubby!" I adds. "Hey, Westy! Come nourish yourself."
Maybe you remember that pair? Sappy Westlake, anyway. He's the
noble, fair-haired youth that for a long time Auntie had all picked out
as the chosen one for Vee, and he hung around constant until one lucky
day Vee had this Doris Ull come for a visit.
Kind of a pouty, peevish queen, Doris was, you know. Spoiled at home,
and the job finished at one of these flossy girls' boardin'-schools where
they get a full course in court etiquette and learn to call the hired girl
Smith quite haughty.
But she looked good to Westy, and, what with the help Vee and I gave
'em, they made a match of it. Months ago that must 'a' been, nearly a
year. So I signals a fray-juggler to pull up more chairs, and we has
quite a reunion.

Seems they'd been on a long honeymoon trip: done the whole Pacific
coast, stopped off a while at Banff, and worked hack home through
Quebec and the White Mountains. Think of all the carfares and tips to
bell-hops that means! He don't have to worry, though. Income is
Westy's middle name. All he knows about it is that there's a trust
company downtown somewheres that handles the estate and wishes on
him quarterly a lot more'n he knows how to spend. Beastly bore!
"What a wonderful time you two must have had!" says Vee.
Doris shrugs her shoulders.
"Sightseeing always gives me a headache," says she. "And in the
Canadian Rockies we nearly froze. I was glad to see New York again.
But one tires of hotel life. Thank goodness, our house is ready at last.
We moved in a week ago."
"Oh!" says Vee. "Then you're housekeeping?"
Doris nods. "It's quite thrilling," says she. "At ten-thirty every morning
I have the butler bring me Cook's list. Then I 'phone for the things
myself. That is, I've just begun. Let me see, didn't I put in to-day's order
in my--yes, here it is." And she fishes a piece of paper out of a platinum
mesh bag. "Think of our needing all that--just Harold and me," she
goes on.
"I should say so," says Vee, startin' to read over the items. "'Sugar, two
pounds; tea, two pounds--'"
"Cook leaves the amounts to me," explains Doris; "so I just order two
pounds of everything."
"Oh!" says Vee, readin' on. "'Butter, two pounds; eggs, two--' Do they
sell eggs that way, Doris?"
"Don't they?" asks Doris. "I'm sure I don't know."
"'Coffee, two pounds,'" continues Vee. "'Yeast cakes, two pounds--'

Why, wouldn't that be a lot of yeast cakes? They're such little things!"
"Perhaps," says Doris. "But then, I sha'n't have to bother ordering any
more for a month, you see. Now, take the next item. 'Champagne
wafers, ten pounds.' I'm fond of those. But that is the only time I broke
my rule. See--'flour, two pounds; roast beef, two pounds,' and so on. Oh,
I mean to be quite systematic in my housekeeping!"
"Isn't she a wonder?" asks Westy, gazin' at her proud and mushy.
"I say, though, Vee," goes on Doris enthusiastic, "you must come home
with us for dinner to-night. Do!"
At which Westy nudges her and whispers something behind his hand.
"Oh, yes," adds Doris. "You too, Torchy."
Vee had to 'phone Auntie and get Doris to back her up before the
special dispensation was granted; but at six-thirty the four of us starts
uptown for this brownstone bird-cage of happiness that Westy has
taken a five-year lease of.
"Just think!" says Vee, as we unloads from the taxi. "You with a house
of your own, and managing servants, and--"
"Oh!" remarks Doris, as she pushes the button. "I do hope you won't
mind Cyril."
"Mind who?" says Vee.
"He--he's our butler," explains Westy. "I suppose he's a very good
butler, too--the man at the employment agency said he was; but--er--"
"I'm sure he is," puts in Doris, "even if he does look a little odd. Then
there is his name--Cyril Snee. Of course, Cyril doesn't sound just right
for a butler, does it? But Snee is so--so--"
"Isn't it?" says Vee. "I should call him Cyril."

"We started in that way," says Doris, "but he asked us not to; said he
preferred to be called Snee. It was unusual, and besides he had private
reasons. So