The House of Torchy Page 11

  CHAPTER XI

  AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED

  I expect Mr. Robert overstated the case a bit. He was more or lesshectic back of the ears about then, havin' just broken away after ahalf-hour session with Mrs. Stanton Bliss.

  "That woman," says he, slumpin' into a chair and moppin' his brow, "hasthe mental equipment of a pet rabbit and the disposition of a settinghen. Good Lord!"

  I looks over at Vee and grins. Had to. It ain't often you see Mr. Robertlike that. And him bein' all dolled up in his nifty navy uniform made itseem just that much funnier. But Vee don't grin back. She'd sympathizewith 'most anybody. At that exact minute, I'll bet she was bein' sorryfor both of 'em all in the same breath, as you might say.

  "But can't something be done--somehow?" she asks.

  "Not by me," says Mr. Robert, decided. "Great marlinspikes! I'm not thewar department, am I? I'm only a first-grade lieutenant in command of ablessed, smelly old menhaden trawler that's posing as a mine-sweeper. Iam supposed to be enjoying a twenty-four hour shore leave in the peaceand quiet of my home, and I get--this."

  He waves his hand toward the other room, where the afore-mentioned Mrs.Stanton Bliss is sobbin, sniffin', and otherwise registerin' deepemotion by clawin' Mrs. Robert about the shoulders and wavin' away thesmellin' salts.

  "If it was the first time," growls Mr. Robert. "But it isn't."

  That was true, too. You see, we'd heard somethin' about the otherspasms. They'd begun along in July, when the awful news came out thatWilfred's red ink number had been plucked from the jar. Now you get it,don't you? Nothing unique. The same little old tragedy that was bein'staged in a million homes, includin' four-room flats, double-deckertenements, and boardin'-houses.

  Only this happened to hit the forty-room country house of the StantonBlisses. Course, it was different. Look who was bein' stirred up by it.

  So mother had begun throwin' cat-fits. She'd tackled everyone she knew,demandin' to know what was to be done to keep Wilfred out of it. Amongothers, of course, she'd held up Mr. Robert. Wasn't he their nearestneighbor, and hadn't the Blisses entertained the Ellinses a lot? Notthat she put it that way, exactly. But when she came with this hunchabout gettin' sonny a snap job on some sort of naval construction work,why, of course, Mr. Robert couldn't duck. Yes, he thought he could placeWilfred. And he did--time-keeper, six-hour shift, and near enough so hecould run back and forth every day in his machine.

  That might have been good enough for some folks. It meant dodgin' thedraft for Wilfred, dead sure. But mother didn't stay satisfied long. Shewent investigatin' around the plant. She found the office stuffy,Wilfred's desk had no electric fan on it, she wasn't sure of thedrinkin' water, and the foreman was quite an impossible sort of personwho always sneered when he had anything to say to Wilfred. Couldn't Mr.Robert attend to some of these things? Mr. Robert said he'd try--if hehad time. He didn't get the time. More visits from mother.

  Then this latest catastrophe. The Stanton Blisses had been away fromhome for three weeks or more, house-partyin' and motorin' through themountains. Poor Wilfred had had to stay behind. What a stupidlydistressin' thing war was, wasn't it? But he had been asked to spend hisnights and Sundays with a college chum whose home was several milesnearer the works.

  And then they had come back to find this scribbled note. Things had beengettin' worse and worse, Wilfred wrote. Some young hoodlums around theplant had shouted after him as he drove off in his car. Even younggirls. The men had been surly to him, and that beastly foreman---- Well,he wasn't goin' to stand for it, that was all. He didn't know just whathe was goin' to do, but he was clearin' out. They'd hear from him later.

  They had. This six-word message from Philadelphia, dated nearly twoweeks ago, was also waitin'. It said that he'd enlisted, was all right,and for them not to worry. Nothin' more.

  You couldn't blame mother for bein' stirred up. Her Wilfred had gone.Somewhere in some army camp or other, or at some naval trainin' station,the son and heir of the house of Bliss was minglin' with the coarse sonsof the common people, was eatin' common food, was wearin' commonclothes, was goin' up against the common thing generally. And thatwasn't the worst of it. Where? Why didn't Mr. Robert tell her where? Andcouldn't he get him away at once? Mr. Robert had almost gone hoarsetryin' to explain why he couldn't. But after every try she'd come backwith this wail:

  "Oh, but you don't understand what it is to be a mother!"

  "Thank the stars I don't!" says he, as he marches out of the room.

  I was for clearin' out so he'd be free to shoo her in any style hewanted to. We'd been havin' dinner with the Ellinses, Vee and I, and itwas time to go home anyway. But there's no budgin' Vee.

  "Don't you think Torchy might find out where he is?" she suggests."Bein' in the army himself, you know, and so clever at that sort ofthing, I should think----"

  "Why, to be sure," breaks in Mr. Robert, perkin' up all of a sudden andstarin' at me. "Lieutenant Torchy to the rescue, of course. He's thevery one."

  "Ah, say, how'd you get that way?" says I. "Back up!"

  He's off, though, callin' Mrs. Stanton Bliss. And before I can escapehe's sickin' her on real enthusiastic. Also there's Vee urgin' me tosee if I can't do something to locate Wilfred. So I had to make thestab.

  "Got that wire with you?" I asks.

  Yes, Mrs. Bliss had all the documents right handy. I takes the yellowsheet over under the readin' lamp and squints at it sleuthy, partly tokill time, and partly because I couldn't think of anything else to do.And of course they all have to gather round and watch me close, as if Iwas about to pull some miracle. Foolish! It was a great deal worse thanthat.

  "H-m-m-m-m!" says I. "Philadelphia. I suppose there's some sort of navaltrainin' station there, eh?"

  Mr. Robert says there is.

  "But if Wilfred was at it," I goes on, "and didn't want you to find him,he wouldn't have sent this from there, would he?"

  Mrs. Stanton Bliss sighs. "I'm sure I don't know," says she. "I--Isuppose not."

  "Must be somewhere within strikin' distance of Philadelphia, though,"says I. "Now, what camp is near?"

  "Couldn't we wire someone in Washington and find out?" asks Mrs. Bliss.

  "Sure," says I. "And we'd get an official answer from the Secretary ofWar about 11 A.M. next spring. It'll be a lot quicker to call up WhiteyWeeks."

  They don't know everything in newspaper offices, but there are mightyfew things they can't find out. Whitey, though, didn't even have toconsult the copy desk or the clippin' bureau.

  "About the nearest big one," says he, "is the Ambulance Corps Camp atAllentown. Somewhere up on the Lehigh. S'long."

  Here was another jolt for Mrs. Stanton Bliss. The Ambulance Corps! Shenear keeled over again, just hearin' me say it. Oh, oh! Did I reallybelieve Wilfred could have been as rash as that?

  "Why," says she, "they drive right up to the trenches, don't they? Isn'tthat fearfully dangerous?"

  "War isn't a parlor pastime," puts in Mr. Robert. "And the ambulancedrivers take their chances with the rest of the men. But there's nofightin' going on at Allentown. If Wilfred is there----"

  "If he is," cuts in Mrs. Bliss, "I must go to him this very moment."

  Some way that statement seemed to cheer Mr. Robert up a lot.

  "Naturally," says he. "I'll look up a train for you. Just a second. Inthe A's. Allentown--Allen. Ah, page 156. M-m-m. Here you are. First onestarts at 2 A.M. and gets you in at 5.15. Will that do?"

  Mrs. Bliss turns on him sort of dazed, and blinks them round eyes ofhers. She's a fairly well put up old girl, you know, built sort of onthe pouter-pigeon type, but with good lines below the waist, and acomplexion that she's taken lots of pains with. Dresses real classy,and, back to, she's often mistaken for daughter Marion. Travels in quitea gay bunch, I understand, with Mr. Stanton Bliss kind of trailin' alongbehind. Usually, when she ain't indulgin' in hysterics, she has veryfetchin' kittenish ways. You know the kind. Their specialty's makin' thesurroundin' males jump through the hoop for
'em. But when it comes toarrivin' anywhere at 5.15 A.M.--well, not for her.

  "I should be a sight," says she.

  "You'd still be a mother, wouldn't you?" asks Mr. Robert.

  It was rough of him, as he was given to understand by the looks of allthree ladies present, includin' Mrs. Robert; so he tries to squarehimself by lookin' up a ten o'clock train, all Pullman, with diner andobservation.

  "I would gladly take you up myself," says he, lyin' fluent, "if Ididn't have to go back to my boat. But here is Torchy. He'll go, Isuppose."

  "Of course," says Vee.

  And that's how I came to be occupyin' drawin'-room A, along with motherand sister Marion, as we breezes up into the Pennsylvania hills on thisWilfred hunt. A gushy, giggly young party Marion is, but she turns outto be quite a help. It was her who spots the two young soldiers driftin'through towards the smokin' compartment, and suggests that maybe they'regoin' to the same camp.

  "And they would know if Wilfred was there, wouldn't they?" she adds.

  "Maybe," says I. "I'll go ask."

  Nice, clean-cut young chaps they was. They'd stretched out comfortableon the leather seats, and was enjoyin' a perfectly good smoke, until Ishows up. The minute I appears, though, they chucks their cigars andjumps up, heels together, right hand to the hat-brim. That's what I getby havin' this dinky bar on my shoulders.

  "Can it, boys," says I. "This is unofficial."

  "At ease, sir?" suggests one.

  "As easy as you know how," says I.

  Yes, they says they're ambulancers; on their way back to Allentown,too. But they didn't happen to know of any Wilfred Stanton Bliss there.

  "You see, sir," says one, "there are about five thousand of us, so hemight----"

  "Sure!" says I. "But mother'll want an affidavit. Would you minddroppin' in and bein' cross-examined? There's sister Marion, too."

  Obligin' chaps, they were; let me tow 'em into the drawin'-room,listened patient while Mrs. Bliss described just how Wilfred looked, andtried their best to remember havin' seen such a party. Also they gaveher their expert opinion on how long the war was goin' to last, whenWilfred would be sent over, and what chances he stood of comin' backwithout a scratch.

  Once more it was Marion who threw the switch.

  "Tell me," says she, "will he be wearing a uniform just like yours?"

  They said he would.

  "Oh!" gurgles Marion, "I think it is perfectly spiffy. Don't you,mother? I'm just crazy to see Wilfred in one."

  Mother catches the enthusiasm. "My noble boy!" says she, rollin' hereyes up.

  From then on she's quite chipper. The idea of findin' sonny made overinto a smart, dashin' soldier seemed to crowd out all the panickythoughts she'd been havin'. From little hints she let drop, I judgedthat she was already picturin' him as a gallant hero, struttin' aroundhaughty and givin' off stern commands. Maybe he'd been made a captain orsomething. Surely they would soon see that her Wilfred ought to be anofficer of some kind.

  "And we must have his portrait painted," she remarks, claspin' her handsexcited as the happy thought strikes her.

  The boys looked steady out of the window and managed to smother thesmiles. I imagine they'd seen all sorts of mothers come to camp.

  It's a lively little burg, Allentown, even if I didn't know it was onthe map before. At the station you take a trolley that runs straightthrough the town and out to the fair grounds, where the camp is located.Goin' up the hill, you pass through the square and by the Soldiers'Monument. Say, it's some monument, too. Then out a long street linedwith nice, comfortable-lookin' homes, until you get a glimpse of bluehills rollin' away as far as you can see, and there you are.

  The boys piloted us past the guard at the gates, through a grove oftrees, and left us at the information bureau, where a soldier wearin'shell-rimmed glasses listened patient while mother and sister bothtalked at once.

  "Bliss? Just a moment," says he, reachin' for a card-index box. "Yes,ma'am. Wilfred Stanton. He's here."

  "But where?" demands Mrs. Bliss.

  "Why," says the soldier, "he's listed with the casuals just now.Quartered in the cow-barn."

  "The--the cow-barn!" gasps Mrs. Bliss.

  The soldier grins.

  "It's over that way," says he, wavin' his hand. "Anyone will tell you."

  They did. We wandered on and on, past the parade ground that used to bethe trottin' track, past new barracks that was being knocked togetherhasty, until we comes to this dingy white buildin' with all theunderwear hung up to dry around it. I took one glance inside, where thecots was stacked in thick and soldiers was loafin' around in variousstages of dress and undress, and then I shooed mother and sister off aways while I went scoutin' in alone. At a desk made out of apackin'-box I found a chap hammerin' away at a typewriter. He salutesand goes to attention.

  "Yes, sir," says he, when I've told him who I'm lookin' for. "SqueakyBliss. But he's on duty just now, sir."

  I suggests that his mother and sister are here and would like to have aglimpse of him right away.

  "They'd better wait until after five, sir," says he.

  "I wouldn't like to try holdin' 'em in that long," says I.

  "Very well, sir," says he. "Squeaky's on fatigue. Somewhere down at thefurther end of the grand stand you might catch him. But if it's hismother--well, I'd wait."

  I passes this advice on to Mrs. Bliss.

  "The idea!" says she. "I wish to see my noble soldier boy at once.Come."

  So we went. There was no scarcity of young fellows in olive drab. Theplace was thick with 'em. Squads were drillin' every way you looked, andout in the center of the field, where two or three hundred newambulances were lined up, more squads were studyin' the insides of themotor, or practicin' loadin' in stretchers. Hundreds and hundreds ofyoung fellows in uniform, all lookin' just alike. I didn't wonder thatmother couldn't pick out sonny boy.

  "What was it that man said?" she asks. "Wilfred on fatigue. Does thatmean he is resting?"

  "Not exactly," says I.

  About then sister Marion begins to exhibit jumpy emotions.

  "Mother! Mother!" says she, starin' straight ahead. "Look!"

  All I could see was a greasy old truck backed up in front of some lowwindows under the grand stand, with half a dozen young toughs in smearyblue overalls jugglin' a load of galvanized iron cans. Looked likegarbage cans; smelled that way too. And the gang that was handlin''em--well, most of 'em had had their heads shaved, and in that rig theycertainly did look like a bunch from Sing Sing.

  I was just nudgin' sister to move along, when Mrs. Bliss lets out thischoky cry:

  "Wilfred!" says she.

  She hadn't made any mistake, either. It was sonny, all right. And youshould have seen his face as he swings around and finds who's watchin'him. If it hadn't been for the bunkie who was helpin' him lift that canof sloppy stuff on to the tail of the truck, there'd been a fine spill,too.

  "My boy! Wilfred!" calls Mrs. Stanton Bliss, holdin' out her armsinvitin' and dramatic.

  Now, in the first place, Wilfred was in no shape to be the party of thesecond part in a motherly clinch act. It's messy work, loadin' garbagecans, and he's peeled down for it. He was costumed in a pair of overallsthat would have stood in the corner all by themselves, and an armyundershirt with one sleeve half ripped off.

  In the second place, all the rest of the bunch was wearin' broad grins,and he knew it. So he don't rush over at once. Instead he steps aroundto the front of the truck and salutes a husky, freckled-necked youngsergeant who's sittin' behind the steerin' wheel.

  "Family, sir," says Wilfred. "What--what'll I do?"

  The sergeant takes one look over his shoulder.

  "Oh, well," says he, "drop out until next load."

  Not until Wilfred had led us around the corner does he express hisfeelin's.

  "For the love of Mike, mother!" says he. "Wasn't it bad enough withoutyour springin' that 'muh boy!' stuff? Right before all the fellows,too. Good-night!"

  "But
, Wilfred," insists mother, "what does this mean? Why do I findyou--well, like this? Oh, it's too dreadful for words. Who has done thisto you--and why?"

  Jerky, little by little, Wilfred sketches out the answer. Army lifewasn't what he'd expected. Not at all. He was sore on the wholebusiness. He'd been let in for it, that was all. It wasn't so bad forsome of the fellows, but they'd been lucky. As for him--well, he'd comehere to learn to be an ambulance driver, and he had spent his first weekin the kitchen, peelin' potatoes. Then, when they'd let him off that,and given him his first pass to go to town, just because he'd been alittle late comin' back they'd jumped on him somethin' fierce. They'dshoved him on this garbage detail. He'd been on it ever since.

  "It's that mucker of a top sergeant, Quigley," says Wilfred. "He's gotit in for me."

  Mrs. Stanton Bliss straightens out her chin dimple as she glares afterthe garbage truck, which is rollin' away in the distance.

  "Has he, indeed!" says she. "We will see about that, then."

  "But you must handle him easy, mother," warns Wilfred.

  "That person!" snorts mother. "I shall have nothing to do with himwhatever. I mean to get you out of this, Wilfred. I am going straight tothe general."

  "Now, mother!" protests Wilfred. "Don't make a scene."

  When she was properly stirred up, though, that was mother's long suit.And she starts right in. Course, I tried to head her off, but it's nouse. As there wasn't a general handy, she had to be satisfied with amajor. Seemed like a mighty busy major, too; but when he heard hisorderly tryin' to shunt the ladies, he gives the signal to let 'em in.You can bet I didn't follow. Didn't have to, for Mrs. Bliss wasn't doin'any whisperin' about then.

  And she sure made it plain to the major how little she thought of the U.S. Army, and specially that part of it located at Allentown, Pa. Havin'got that off her chest, and been listened to patient, she demands thatWilfred be excused from all his disgustin' duties, and be allowed to gohome with her at once and for good.

  The major shakes his head. "Impossible!" says he.

  "Then," says Mrs. Stanton Bliss, tossin' her head, "I shall appeal tothe Secretary of War; to the President, if necessary."

  The major smiles weary. "You'd best talk to his sergeant," says he. "Ifhe recommends your son's discharge it may go through."

  "That person!" exclaims Mrs. Bliss. "Never! I--I might talk to hiscaptain."

  "Useless, madam," says the major. "See his sergeant; he's the one."

  And he signifies polite that the interview is over.

  When mother tells sonny the result of this visit to headquarters, heshrugs his shoulders.

  "I knew it would be that way," says he. "They've got me, and I've got tostand for it. No use askin' Quigley. You might as well go home."

  "But at least you can get away long enough to have dinner with us," saysmother.

  "Nothing doin'," says Wilfred. "Can't get out unless Quigley signs apass, and he won't."

  "Oh, come!" says I. "He don't look so bad as all that. Let me see what Ican do with him."

  Well, after I'd chased the ladies back to the hotel with instructions towait hopeful, I hunts up Top Sergeant Quigley. Had quite a revealin'chat with him, too. Come to look at him close after he'd washed up, he'srather decent appearin'. Face seems sort of familiar, too.

  "Didn't you play first base for the Fordhams?" I asks.

  "Oh, that was back in '14," says he.

  "As I remember," says I, "you was some star on the bag, though. Now,about young Bliss. Case of mommer's pet, you know."

  "He had that tag all over him," says Quigley. "But we're knockin' a lotof that out of him. He's comin' on."

  "Good!" says I. "Would it stop the process to let him off for an evenin'with the folks--dinner and so on?"

  "Why, no; I guess not," says Quigley. "Might do him good. But he mustapply himself. Send him along."

  So a half hour later I sat on a cot in the cow-barn and watched Wilfred,fresh from the shower bath, get into his army uniform.

  "Say," he remarks, strugglin' through his khaki shirt, "I didn't thinkold Quig would do it."

  "Seemed glad to," says I. "Said you was comin' on fine."

  "He did?" gasps Wilfred. "Quigley? Well, what do you know!"

  Not such a bad imitation of a soldier, Wilfred, when he'd laced up theleggins and got the snappy-cut coat buttoned tight. He's some differentfrom what he was when sister first discovered him. And we had quite agay dinner together.

  First off mother was for campin' right down there indefinitely, whereshe could see her darlin' boy every day; but between Wilfred and me wepersuaded her different. I expect the hotel quarters had something to dowith it, too. Anyway, after Wilfred had promised to try for a couple ofdays off soon, for a visit home, she consents to start back in themornin'.

  "What I dread most, Wilfred," says she, "is leaving you at the mercy ofthat horrid sergeant."

  "Oh, I'll get along with him somehow," says Wilfred. "I'm goin' to try,anyway."

  And right there, as I understand it, Wilfred Stanton Bliss started to bea man and a soldier. He had a long way to go, though, it seemed to me.

  So here the other day, only a couple of weeks since we made our trip,I'm some surprised to see who it is givin' me the zippy salute on thestation platform out home. Yes, it's Wilfred. And say, he's got hisshoulders squared, he's carryin' his chin up, and he's wearin' hisuniform like it grew on him.

  "Well, well!" says I. "Got your furlough, eh?"

  "Yes, sir," says he. "Seventy-two hours. Had a whale of a time, too. Youcan't guess who I brought home with me, I'll bet."

  I couldn't.

  "Our top sergeant--Quigley," says he. "Say, he's all right. He's had ustransferred to the best barracks in camp. Guess we deserve it, too, forwe're on the way to bein' the crackerjack section of them all. You oughtto see us drill. Some class! And it's all due to Quigley. Do you knowwhat he thinks? That we're slated among the next lot to go over. Howabout that, sir? Won't that be great?"

  "Huh!" says I. "How long ago was it you signed up, Wilfred?"

  "Just six weeks, sir," says he.

  "Whiffo!" says I, gawpin' at him. "If we had about a hundred thousandQuigleys!"