Part 12 (1/2)

”Buildin' on fire?” says I.

”Why, no, sir,” says be, goin' bug-eyed.

”Oh!” says I. ”Then who you got waitin' out there--Secretary Daniels or the Czar of Russia?”

Vincent pinks up like a geranium and smiles shy, like he always does when he's kidded. ”If you please, sir,” says he, ”it's only a lady; to see Mr. Mason, sir.”

”Huh!” says I. ”Lady trailin' old K. W. here, eh? Must be one of the fam'ly.”

”Oh no, sir,” says Vincent. ”I'm quite sure it isn't.”

”Then shunt her, Vincent,” says I. ”For you can take it from me, K. W.

is in no mood to talk with stray females at the present writing. Shoo her.”

”Ye-e-e-es, sir,” says he; ”but--but I wish you would see her a moment yourself, sir.”

”If it's as bad as that,” says I, ”I will.”

Pretty fair judgment Vincent has too, as a rule, even if he does look like a mommer's boy. Course, he can't give agents and grafters the quick back-up, like I used to. He side-tracks 'em so gentle, they go away as satisfied as if they'd been invited in; and I don't know but his method works just as well. It ain't often they put anything over on him, either.

So I'm surprised and grieved to see what's waitin' for one of our plutiest directors outside the bra.s.s rail. In fact, I almost gasps.

Lady! More like one of the help from the laundry. The navy blue print dress with the red polka dots was enough for one quick breath, just by itself. How was that for an afternoon street costume to blow into the Corrugated general offices with on a winter's day? True, she's wearin'

a gray sweater and what looked like a man's ulster over it; but there's no disguisin' the fact that the droopy-brimmed black sailor was a last summer's lid. Anyway, the whole combination seems to amuse the lady typists.

This party of the polka dots, though, don't seem to notice the stir she's causin', or don't mind if she does. A slim, wiry young female she is, well along in the twenties, I should say. What struck me most about her was the tan on her face and hands and the way her hair was faded in streaks. Sort of a general outdoor look she had, which is odd enough to see on Broadway any time of year.

”Was it you askin' for Mr. Mason?” says I, beginnin' to suspect that Vincent had made a mistake, after all.

”Yes indeed, suh,” says she, sort of soft and slurry. ”Ahm th' one.

You jess tell him Valentina Tozier's out hea-uh. He'll know.”

”Oh, will he?” says I, a bit sarcastic. ”Sorry, Valentina, but I couldn't think of disturbin' Mr. Mason now. Maybe you don't know it, but he's a mighty busy man.”

”Well, there!” says she. ”Think of that!”

Then I knew why it was Vincent had taken a chance on cras.h.i.+n' into a directors' meetin'. He'd been hypnotized by Miss Tozier's smile. It ain't any common open-faced movement, believe me. It's about the friendliest, most natural heart-to-heart smile I ever got in range of.

And, somehow, it seems to come mostly from the eyes; a chummy, confidential, trustin' smile that sparkles with good faith and good nature, and kind of thrills you with the feelin' that you must be a lot better'n you ever suspected. Honest, after one application I forgets the queer rig she has on, the mud-colored hair, and the way her chest slumps in. Whoever she might be and whatever she might want, I'm strong for givin' her the helpin' hand. If I could have gone in and led old K. W. out by the arm, I'd have done it. But you couldn't have pulled him away from that Board sc.r.a.p with a donkey-engine. He was unloadin' a ten months' grouch against some of Old Hickory's pet policies, Mr. Mason was, and he was enjoyin' himself huge, even if he did know he was due to be steam-rollered when the vote was taken.

”See here, Miss Tozier,” says I, ”it wouldn't do you a bit of good to see Mr. Mason now. He's all lathered up and frothin' at the mouth.

But in an hour or so he'll be calmed down, maybe before. I tell you what; you stroll out and take in the store windows for a spell and then drift back later. Come up here if you like, or you can wait in the arcade and nail him as he comes down the elevator.”

She thanks me real folksy, pats Vincent on the shoulder, and starts for the corridor with a long, easy swing that some of these barefoot poem dancers couldn't execute to save their necks.

”Huh!” says I to Vincent. ”Put the spell on us, didn't she?”

All through the rest of that messy session I'd glance now and then at K. W. and wonder where and how he ever happened to meet up with Valentina. I was meanin' to pa.s.s him the word how she was waitin' to see him; but after he'd registered his big howl, and Old Hickory had first smeared him and then soothed him down, he left so sudden that I didn't have a chance.

Besides, I was some rushed myself. There was a lot of odds and ends to be tied up after the meetin', and two or three of them resolutions that was jammed through called for quick action early next day. That's what kept me and Piddie and Mr. Robert doin' so much overtime. About six o'clock we had coffee and sandwiches sent in, and it must have been well after seven before we locked the big safes and called it a day.