On With Torchy | Page 3

was panicky thoughts,
them.
But a minute later the plot is still further mixed by the sudden swishy,
swirly entrance of an entire stranger,--a tall, thin female with vivid pink
cheeks, a chemical auburn tint to her raven tresses, and long jet
danglers in her ears. She's draped in what looks like a black silk
umbrella cover with rows of fringe and a train tacked to it, and she
wears a red, red rose coquettish over one ear. As she swoops down on
us from the drawin' room she cuts loose with the vivacious chatter.

"Ah, there you are, you dear, darling boys!" says she. "And the Princess
Charming is holding court to-day. Ah, Reggy, you scamp! But you did
come, didn't you? And dear Theodore too! Brave, Sir Knights! That's
what you all shall be,--Knights come to woo the Princess!"
Honest, for awhile there, as this bughouse monologue was bein' put
over, I figured I've made a mistake in the floor, and had been let into a
private ward. But as soon as I gets next to the Georgia accent I suspects
that it ain't any case of squirrels in the attic; but just a sample of sweet
Southern gush.
Next I gets a peek through the draperies at some straw-colored hair
with a shell-pink ear peepin' from underneath, and I know that
whatever else is wrong don't matter; for over there on the windowseat,
surrounded by half a dozen young gents, is somebody very particular
and special. Followin' this I does a hasty piece of scout work and draws
a deep breath. No Aunty looms on the horizon--not yet, anyway.
With the arrival of the new delegates the admirin' semicircle has to
break up, and the three of us are towed to the bay window by Vivacious
Vivian.
"Princess," says she, makin' a low duck, "three other Knights who
would do homage. Allow me first to present Mr. Reginald St. Claire
Smith. Here Reggy. Also Mr. Theodore Braden. And next
Mr.--Mr.--er----"
She's got to me. I expect her first guess was that I'd been dragged in by
one of the other two; but as neither of 'em makes any sign she turns
them black, dark-ringed lamps inquirin' on me and asks, "Oh, I'm sure I
beg pardon, but--but you are----"
Now who the blazes was I, anyway? It all depended on how well
posted she was, whether I should admit I was Torchy the Banished, or
invent an alias on the spot.
"Why," says I, draggin' it out to gain time, "you see I'm a--that is, I'm
a--a----"

"Oh, hello!" breaks in Vee, jumpin' up and holdin' out both hands just
in the nick of time. "Why, of course, Cousin Eulalia! This is a friend of
mine, an old friend."
"Really!" says Cousin Eulalia. "And I may call him----"
"Claude," I puts in, winkin' at Vee. "Call me just Claude."
"Perfectly lovely!" gushes Eulalia. "An unknown knight. 'Deed and you
shall be called Claude--Sir Claude of the Golden Crest. Gentlemen, I
present him to you."
We looks at each other sort of sheepish, and most of us grins. All but
one, in fact. The blond string bean over in the corner, with the
buttermilk blue eyes and the white eyebrows, he don't seem amused.
For it's Sappy Westlake, the one I run on a siding once at a dance.
Think of keepin' a peeve on ice all that time!
It's quite a likely lookin' assortment on the whole, though, all costumed
elegant and showin' signs of bein' fairly well parlor broke.
"What's the occasion?" says I on the side to Miss Vee. "Reunion of
somebody's Sunday school class?"
She gives me a punch and smothers a snicker, "Don't let Cousin Eulalia
hear you say such a thing," says she.
We only had a minute; but from what she manages to whisper durin'
the general chatter I makes out that this is a little scheme Eulalia'd
planned to sort of launch Vee into the younger set. She's from Atlanta,
Cousin Eulalia is, one of the best fam'lies, and kind of a perennial
society belle that's tinkled through quite some seasons, but refuses to
quit. Just now she's spendin' a month with Fifth-ave. friends, and has
just discovered that Vee and her are close connected through a
step-uncle marryin' a half-sister of Eulalia's brother-in-law, or
something like that. Anyhow, she insists on the cousin racket, and has
started right in to rush Vee to the front.

She's some rasher, Eulalia is, too. No twenty-minutes-to-or-after
silences while she's conductin' affairs. Course, it's kind of frothy stuff
to pass for conversation; but it bubbles out constant, and she blows it
around impartial. Her idea of giving Cousin Vee a perfectly good time
seems to be to have us all grouped around that windowseat and take