Part 34 (2/2)

”Well,” says he, ”I supposed until within an hour or so ago that I never should. And then----Well, she's here, Torchy; came yesterday, and I presume she expects to see me to-night.”

”That's encouragin', anyway,” says I.

But Mallory don't seem so much cheered up. It turns out that Sis is spendin' a few days with friends here, waitin' for the rest of the fam'ly to come on and sail for Europe. They're givin' a farewell dinner dance for her, and Skid is on the list.

The trouble is he can't make up his mind whether to go or stay away. One minute he's dead sure he won't, and the next minute he admits he don't see what harm there would be in takin' one last look.

”But, then,” says Mallory, ”what good would that do?”

”I know,” says I. ”There's a young lady friend of mine on the other side too. Say, Mallory, I guess we belong in the lobster cla.s.s.”

And when we splits up on the corner Skid has decided against the party proposition, and goes off towards his boardin' house with his chin down on his collar and his heels draggin'.

So I wa'n't prepared for the joyous smile and the frock coat regalia that Mallory wears when he blows into the office about ten-forty-five next forenoon. He's sportin' a spray of lilies of the valley in his lapel, and swingin' his silver topped stick, and by the look on his face you'd think he was hearin' the birdies sing in the treetops.

”Tra-la-la, tra-la-lee!” says I, throwin' open the bra.s.s gate for him.

”Is it a special holiday, or what?”

”It's a very special one,” says he, thumpin' me on the back and whisperin' husky in my ear. ”Torchy, I'm married!”

”Wha-a-at!” I splutters. ”Who to? When?”

”To Sis,” says he, ”half an hour ago.”

”Eh?” says I. ”Mean to say you've been and eloped with the Senator's daughter?”

”Eloped!” says he, as though he'd never heard the word before. ”Why, no--er--that is, we just went out and--and----”

Oh, no, they hadn't eloped! They'd merely slid out of the ballroom about three A.M., after dancin' seventeen waltzes together, snuggled into a hansom cab, and rode around the park until daylight talkin' it over.

Then she'd slipped back into the house, got into her travelin' dress while he was off changin' his clothes, met again at eight o'clock, chased down to City Hall after a license, and then dragged a young rector away from his boiled eggs and toast to splice 'em.

But Skid didn't call that elopin'. Why, Sis had left word with the butler to tell her friends all about it, and the first thing they did after it was over was to send a forty-word collect telegram to papa.

And Mallory, he'd just dropped around to arrange with Old Hickory for a little vacation before they beat it for Atlantic City.

”So that ain't elopin', eh?” says I. ”I expect you'd call that a sixty-yard run on a forward pa.s.s, or something like that? Well, the old man's inside. Luck to you.”

Mallory wa'n't on the carpet long, and when he comes out I asks how he made back.

”Oh, bully!” says he. ”I'm to have ten days.”

”With or without?” says I.

”Oh, I forgot to ask,” says he.

Little things like bein' on the payroll or not wa'n't botherin' him then. He gives me a bone crus.h.i.+n' grip and swings out to the elevator in a rush; for he's been away from Sis nearly half an hour now.

Exceptin' a picture postcard or two, showin' the iron pier and a bathin'

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