Part 22 (1/2)
”Hookworms, Piddie,” says I, ”hookworms. I had a sudden attack.”
CHAPTER XI
RUNG IN WITH THE GOLD SPOONERS
On the level now, what's a he Cinderella? And if your boss called you a name like that, would you resign, or throw out your chest and strike for a raise? But, then, maybe it was only some of Mr. Robert's fancy jos.h.i.+n'. Anyway, I'd stand in line waitin' for a thing like that to happen again.
The way it begun was when I runs across this new girl in the filin' room and finds her snifflin' over one of the index cases. She's bitin' her lips to keep from doing it and she's red way up behind her ears; so I knows she's more mad than sorry. I could guess what's happened; for I'd just seen Piddie come out of there looking satisfied and important.
”h.e.l.lo, sis!” says I. ”Weepin' over your job so soon?”
”Shut up!” says she.
”Why, how pettis.h.!.+” says I. ”What was Piddie callin' you down for?”
”What's that to you?” says she. ”Who are you, anyway?”
”Me?” says I. ”Why, I'm the Corrugated's gen'ral grouch dispeller. I'm the official little ray of suns.h.i.+ne. See?” and I bobs my head so she can get a good view of my red thatch.
”Huh!” says she; but she can't help lettin' out a grin, so I sees the cure has begun.
”Don't you mind Piddie,” says I. ”He don't dare tie the can to you without reportin' higher up. He likes to make a noise like a watchdog, that's all. Next time you give him the merry chuckle.”
And, honest, I'd done the same if she'd been wall-eyed and toggle-jointed, just for the sake of blockin' off his little game.
It wa'n't until a couple of days later, when she shoots over a casual flashlight look as I'm strollin' past, that I takes any partic'lar notice of what a Daisy Maizie she is. There's more or less cla.s.s to her lines, all right, not to mention a pair of rollin' brown eyes. Course, I sends back the roguish wink, and by the end of the week we was callin'
each other by our pet names.
Not that I'm entered reg'lar as a Percy boy, or that I takes this so serious as to miss any meals; but you know how it is. And what if she was a few years older? She seems to like it when I sing out, ”Oh, you Theresa!” at her, and once she mussed up my hair when there wa'n't anybody lookin'. In fact, I was almost to the point of thinkin' that I'd been picked as somebody's honey boy when this Izzy Budheimer shows up as a late entry.
Izzy, he's a third a.s.sistant in the stock department, and on twelve a week he sports one of those striped green overcoats and a plush hat with the bow behind. Maybe he wouldn't be listed as a home destroyer; but he has a flossy way with him and he goes around a lot. About the second week I sees him and the new girl gettin' chummier and chummier, and, while she still has a jolly for me now and then, I knows I'm only a side issue. That's what hurt most. So what fool play must I make but go and plunge on a sixty-cent box of mixed choc'lates for her!
As luck would have it, Mr. Robert spots me comin' out of the 23d-st.
candy shop with the package under my arm. You wouldn't think he'd notice a little clew like that, or pick me up on it; but he does.
”How now, Torchy?” says he. ”Sweets to the sweet, eh?”
”Uh-huh,” says I, and I guess I colors up some.
”What is the fair one's name?” says he.
”Tessie,” says I.
”Ah!” says he. ”Thus were they ever named: Tessie, Juliet, and Helen of Troy. They're all one. My envious sympathy, Torchy, and may the G.o.ds be kind!”
Which is only the brand of hot air Mr. Robert blows off whenever he has a good lunch under his vest and nothin' heavy on his mind. It don't mean anything at all.
”Troy!” says I. ”Can it! This ain't for no up-State laundry hand. She comes from Eighth-ave.”