Part 24 (1/2)
I wa'n't sayin' a word in the way of language; but Miss Vee keeps up a string of chatter and giggles that's enough for both. You'd thought to see us, I expect, that we was carryin' on a real, rapid-fire, smart-set dialogue, when all the while it was only her tellin' me how the diff'rent parties was actin' when they first spotted her on the floor with a ringer, and how the chaperons were squintin' at us through their lorgnettes, tryin' to make out who I was. And the greatest shock I ever had was when the music stopped and I fell about a mile down through rosy clouds.
”Wait!” says Miss Vee, squeezin' my arm. ”There'll be an encore. My aunt's over there, and she's just wild; but it doesn't matter.”
”You're a good sport,” says I, joinin' in the hand-clappin' to jog the orchestra into givin' us a repeat.
And just as they starts up the tune again I happens to glance up into the little visitors' balcony at the end of the ballroom. Who do you guess I sees watchin' us bug-eyed and open-mouthed? Why, Izzy Budheimer and Miss Tessie! See? They've broke away from the lady s.h.i.+rtwaisters durin' the supper hour so Izzy can give his new girl a glimpse of what a real swell dance is like. Maybe he planned on stoppin' in at the cloakroom too, and seein' if I was holdin' down the job proper.
Anyway, I can't blame him for doin' the open-face act when he discovers me out on the floor with the belle of the ball. But all I has time to do is send him up the chilly stare, and away we go again into another one-two-three dream--me and Miss Vee.
”I don't care what becomes of me,” she hums over my shoulder.
”Me either,” says I.
”Silly boy!” says she. ”What's your name?”
”Just Torchy,” says I, ”after my hair.”
”I think curly red hair is cute,” says she.
”I could go hoa.r.s.e sayin' things like that about you,” says I.
Maybe it was lucky, too, that this second installment was short, or I might have gone clean mushy; for the way she could look at me out of them big gray eyes of hers was--well, it was the real thing in thrills.
The wind-up came just as we gets around near the cloakroom door and we stops.
”It was awfully good of you,” says she.
”Gee!” says I. ”Why, I could wear out all my old shoes doin' that, and if ever you need----”
”S-s-s.h.!.+” says she. ”Here comes my aunt!”
Not waitin' for any further diagram of the situation, I makes a dash into the cloakroom, where I finds Izzy Budheimer gazin' puzzled at Bobby, who's sittin' tilted back in his s.h.i.+rt sleeves with the braided coat slung on the floor.
”Look here, Torchy!” begins Izzy. ”What the----”
”On the job, Izzy, if you want to save it!” says I, wigglin' out of Master Bobby's expensive clothes and chuckin' 'em at him.
”But why--what----” says Izzy, tryin' again.
”Don't stop to ask fool questions of a busy society man,” says I; ”but jump into your uniform, get in your coop there, and prepare to put the timelock on your conversation works. In about a minute there'll be a delegation of old hens in here lookin' for a mysterious young gent with incendiary hair who has disappeared. Your cue is to look innocent and not know anything about it. See? If there's any explainin' to be done, let Bobby do it.”
”Oh, I say!” groans Bobby, jumpin' up, and by the time I've struck the bottom stair on my way out he's grabbed his overcoat and is beatin' it down to find his carriage.
How Miss Vee squared it with Aunty is a puzzle I never expect to find out the answer to; but I'll risk her. She's a pink queen, she is, and after that one waltz with her I can look cold-eyed at a row of Tessie girls stretchin' from here to the Battery!
CHAPTER XII
LANDING ON A SIDE STREET
It was a little matter between me and Mother Sykes that starts me off to hunt a new boardin' place. Lovely old girl, Mother Sykes is, one of the kind that calls everybody ”Deary” and collects in advance every Sat.u.r.day night. She's got one of them inquisitive landlady noses that looks like it was made for pryin' up trunk covers and pokin' into bureau drawers.