Part 30 (1/2)

Then, there's that wabbly feeling that comes over you. Say, I had it once, when I was out in an old lobster boat off the coast of Maine, the time I used my summer vacation chasin' up where Vee was visitin'. I had it good and plenty, too, and didn't have to go more'n a couple of miles to get it, either. But think of bein' that way for a couple of weeks, and out where you couldn't get ash.o.r.e if you wanted to. Excuse me!

Besides, I never did have the travel bug very hard. I'll admit I ain't seen much of the country outside of New York; but say, what I have looked over struck me as bein' kind of crude. I expect fields and woods and the seaside stuff is all right for them that likes 'em. Make good pictures, and all that. But them places always seem to me such lonesome spots. Fine and dandy, so far as the view goes, but n.o.body to it. I like my scenery sort of inhabited, and fixed so it can be lit up at night. So I do most of my travelin' between the Bronx and the Battery, and let it go at that.

Now Vee has been brought up different. She's chased round with Auntie all over the map, ever since she can remember. They don't mind startin' off with a maid and seven trunks and not seein' Fifth Avenue for months at a time. She and Auntie think nothing at all of driftin'

into places like Nagasaki or Honolulu or Algiers, hirin' a furnished flat or a house, and campin' down just as if they belonged there; places where they speak all kinds of crazy languages, where ice-cream sodas don't grow at all, and where you don't even know what you're eatin' half the time. Think of that! But Auntie's an original old girl, take it from me.

”She ain't countin' on draggin' you off on this batty gold-diggin'

excursion, is she?” I asks the other evenin', as I was up makin' my reg'lar Wednesday night call.

Vee shrugs her shoulders.

”I'm sure I don't know,” says she. ”You see, although she knows perfectly well I've heard all about it, Auntie makes a deep mystery of everything connected with this cruise. It's that absurd Captain Killam who puts her up to it, I believe.”

”Romantic Rupert?” says I. ”Oh, he's a soft-sh.e.l.l on that subject.

Accordin' to his idea, anybody who overhears any details of this pirate treasure tale of his is liable to grab a dirt shovel and rush right off down there to begin diggin' Florida up by the roots. He loses sleep worryin' as to whether someone else won't get there first. It would be tough if Auntie should take you along, though. I'd hate that.”

”Would you?” says Vee. ”Really? Well, I've been asked to visit at three places--Greenwich, Piping Rock, and here in town. How would that be?”

”Not so bad,” says I, ”specially that last proposition. I'm strong for your visitin' here in town.”

”Perhaps we shall hear to-night whether I'm to go or not,” says Vee.

”They are to hold some sort of meeting here--everyone who has been asked on the cruise. There's someone now.”

”It's Mr. Ellins,” says I, ”and-- Oh, look who he's towin' along--J.

Dudley Simms. He must be for comic relief.”

Just why him and Old Hickory should be such great friends I never could make out, for they're about as much alike as T and S. Dudley's as thin as Mr. Ellins is thick; he always wears that batty twisted smile, while Old Hickory's mouth corners are generally straight, and he knows no more about finance than an ostrich does about playin' first base. Mr.

Simms owns a big block of Corrugated preferred, and he's supposed to be on the Board; but all he ever does is to sign over proxy slips and duck directors' meetings.

”I'm an orphan, you know,” is his stock remark when anyone tries to talk business to him.

Even if he didn't wear gray spats and a wide ribbon on his eyegla.s.ses, you'd spot him for a funny gink by the offset ears and the odd way he has of carryin' his head a little to one side.

”What a queer-looking person!” whispers Vee.

”Wait until you hear him spring some of his nutty conversation,” says I.

By this time the bell buzzes again, and Helma shows in a dumpy little woman with partly gray hair and Baldwin apple cheeks--evidently a friend of Auntie's by the way they go to a clinch.

”Mrs. Mumford,” says Vee.

”Auntie's donation to the party, eh?” says I. ”Just listen to her coo!”

”S-s-s.h.!.+” says Vee, snickerin'.

That's what it was, though--cooin'. Seems to be her specialty, too, for she goes bobbin' and bowin' around the room, makin' noises like a turtle-dove on a top branch.

”O-o-o-oh, Mr. Ellins!” says she. ”So glad to know you. O-o-o-oh!”

And she smiles and ducks her head and beams gushy on everyone in sight.