The House of Torchy Read online

  CHAPTER II

  VEE WITH VARIATIONS

  "But--but look here, Vee," says I, after I'd got my breath back, "youcan't do a thing like that, you know."

  "But I have, Torchy," says she; "and, what is more, I mean to keep ondoing it."

  She don't say it messy, understand--just states it quiet and pleasant.

  And there we are, hardly at the end of our first month, with the rocksloomin' ahead.

  Say, where did I collect all this bunk about gettin' married, anyway? Ihad an idea that after the honeymoon was over, you just settled down andlived happy, or otherwise, ever after. But, believe me, there's nothingto it. It ain't all over, not by a long shot. As a matter of fact,you've just begun to live, and you got to learn how.

  Here I am, discoverin' a new Vee every day or so, and almost dizzytryin' to get acquainted with all of 'em. Do I show up that way to her?I doubt it. Now and then, though, I catch her watchin' me sort ofpuzzled.

  So there's nothing steady goin' or settled about us yet, thanks be. Homeain't a place to yawn in. Not ours. We don't get all our excitement outof changin' the furniture round, either. Oh, sure, we do that, too. Youknow, we're startin' in with a ready-made home--a studio apartment thatMr. Robert picked up for me at a bargain, all furnished.

  He was a near-artist, if you remember, this Waddy Crane party, who'd hada bale of coupon-bearin' certificates willed to him, and what was avan-load of furniture more or less to him? Course, I'm no judge of suchjunk, but Vee seems to think we've got something swell.

  "Just look at this noble old davenport, will you!" says she. "Isn't it abeauty? And that highboy! Real old San Domingo mahogany that is, withperfectly lovely crotch veneer in the panels. See?"

  "Uh-huh," says I.

  "And this four-poster with the pineapple tops and the canopy," she goeson. "Pure Colonial, a hundred years old."

  "Eh?" says I, gazin' at it doubtful. "Course, I was lookin' forsecond-hand stuff, but I don't think he ought to work off anything thatancient on me, do you?"

  "Silly!" says Vee. "It's a gem, and the older the better."

  "We'll need some new rugs, won't we," says I, "in place of some of thesefaded things?"

  "Faded!" says Vee. "Why, those are Bokharas. I will say for Mr. Cranethat he has good taste. This is furnished so much better than moststudios--nothing useless, no mixing of periods."

  "Oh, when I go out after a home," says I, "I'm some grand littleshopper."

  "Pooh!" says Vee. "Who couldn't do it the way you did? Why, the placelooks as if he'd just taken his hat and walked out. There are evencigars in the humidor. And his easel and paints and brushes! Do you knowwhat I'm going to do, Torchy?"

  "Put pink and green stripes around the cigars, I expect," says I.

  "Smarty!" says she. "I'm going to paint pictures."

  "Why not?" says I. "There's no law against it, and here you got all thetools."

  "You know I used to try it a little," says she. "I took quite a lot oflessons."

  "Then go to it," says I. "I'll get a yearly rate from a pressing clubto keep the spots off me. I'll bet you could do swell pictures."

  "I know!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "I'll begin with a portrait ofyou. Let me try sketching in your head now."

  That's the way Vee generally goes at things--with a rush. Say, she hadme sittin' with my chin up and my arms draped in one position until Ihad a neck-ache that ran clear to my heels.

  "Hal-lup!" says I, when both feet was sound asleep and my spine feltossified. "Couldn't I put on a sub while I drew a long breath?"

  At that she lets me off, and after a fifth-innin' stretch I'm calledround to pass on the result.

  "Hm-m-m!" says I, starin' at what she's done to a perfectly good pieceof stretched canvas.

  "Well, what does it look like?" demands Vee.

  "Why," says I, "I should call it sort of a cross between the Kaiser andBilly Sunday."

  "Torchy!" says Vee. "I--I think you're just horrid!"

  For a whole week she sticks to it industrious, jottin' down studies ofvarious parts of my map while I'm eatin' breakfast, and workin' over 'emuntil I come back from the office in the afternoon. Did I throw out anymore comic cracks? Never a one--not even when the picture showed thatmy eyes toed in. All I did was pat her on the back and say she was awonder. But say, I got so I dreaded to look at the thing.

  "You know your hair isn't really red," says Vee; "it--it's such an oddshade."

  "Sort of triple pink, eh?" says I.

  She squeezes out some more paints, stirs 'em vigorous, and makes anotherstab. This time she gets a bilious lavender with streaks of fire-box redin it.

  "Bother!" says she, chuckin' away the brushes. "What's the usepretending I'm an artist when I'm not? Look at that hideous mess! It'stoo awful for words. Take away that fire-screen, will you, Torchy?"

  And, with the help of a few matches and a sportin' extra, we made quitea cheerful little blaze in the coal grate.

  "There!" says Vee, as we watches the bonfire. "So that's over. And it'srather a relief to find out that I haven't got to be a lady artist,after all. What is more, I am positive I couldn't write a book. I'mafraid, Torchy, that I am a most every-day sort of person."

  "Maybe," says I, "you're one of the scarce ones that believes in homeand hubby."

  "We-e-e-ell," says Vee, lockin' her fingers and restin' her chin on 'emthoughtful, "not precisely that type, either. My mind may not beparticularly advanced, but the modified harem existence for womendoesn't appeal to me. And I must confess that, with kitchenettebreakfasts, dinners out, and one maid, I can't get wildly excited over awholly domestic career. Torchy, I simply must have something to do."

  Me, I just sits there gawpin' at her.

  "Why," says I, "I thought that when a girl got married she--she----"

  "I know," says she. "You think you thought. So did I. But you reallydidn't think about it at all, and I'm only beginning to. Of course, youhave your work. I suppose it's interesting, too. Isn't it?"

  "It's a great game," says I. "Specially these days, when doin' any kindof business is about as substantial as jugglin' six china plates whileyou're balanced on top of two chairs and a kitchen table. Honest, we gotdeals enough in the air to make you dizzy followin' 'em. If they all gothrough we'll stand to cut a melon that would pay off the national debt.If they should all go wrong--well, it would be some smash, believe me."

  Vee's gray eyes light up sudden.

  "Why couldn't you tell me all about some of these deals," she says, "sothat I could be in it too? Why couldn't I help?"

  "Maybe you could," says I, "if you understood all the fine points."

  "Couldn't I learn?" demands Vee.

  "Well," says I, "I've been right in the thick of it for quite someyears. If you could pick up in a week or so what it's taken me yearsto----"

  "I see," cuts in Vee. "I suppose you're right, too. But I'm sure that Ishould like to be in business. It must be fascinating, all that planningand scheming. It must make life so interesting."

  I nods. "It does," says I.

  "Then why shouldn't I try something of the kind, all my very own?" sheasks. "Oh, in a small way, at first?"

  More gasps from me. This was gettin' serious.

  "You don't mean margin dabblin' at one of them parlor bucket-shops, doyou?" I demands.

  "No fear," says Vee. "I think gambling is just plain stupid. I mean somesort of legitimate business--buying and selling things."

  "Oh!" says I. "Like real estate, or imported hats, or somebody'shome-made candy? Or maybe you mean startin' one of them Blue Goosenovelty shops down in Greenwich Village. I'll tell you. Why notmanufacture left-handed collar buttons for the south-paw trade? There'sa field."

  Vee don't say any more. In fact, three or four days goes by without hermentionin' anything about havin' nothing to do, and I'd 'most forgotthis batty talk of ours.

  And then, one afternoon when I comes home after a busy day at doin'nothing much and tryin' to look important over it, she
greets me with aflyin' tackle and drags me over to a big wingchair by the window.

  "What do you think, Torchy?" says she. "I've found something!"

  "That trunk key you've been lookin' for?" says I.

  "No," says she. "A business opening."

  "A slot-machine to sell fudge?" says I.

  "You'd never guess," says she.

  "Then shoot it," says I.

  "I'm going to open a shoe-shinery," she announces.

  "Wha-a-a-at!" says I.

  "Only I'm not going to call it that," she goes on. "It isn't to be a'parlor,' either, nor a 'shine shop.' It's to be just a 'Boots.' Righthere in the building. I've leased part of the basement. See?" And shewaves a paper at me.

  "Quit your kiddin'," says I.

  But she insists that it's so. Sure enough, that's the way the leasereads.

  And that's when, as I was tellin' you, I rises up majestic and announcesflat that she simply can't do a thing like that. Also she comes back atme just as prompt by sayin' that she can and will. It's the first timewe've met head-on goin' different ways, and I had just sense enough tothrow in my emergency before the crash came.

  "Now let's get this straight," says I. "I don't suppose you're plannin'to do shoe-shinin' yourself?"

  Vee smiles and shakes her head.

  "Or 'tend the cash register and sell shoelaces and gum to gentlemencustomers?"

  "Oh, it's not to be that sort of place," says she. "It's to be anEnglish 'boots,' on a large scale. You know what I mean."

  "No," says I.

  So she sketches out the enterprise for me. Instead of a reg'lar Tonyjoint with a row of chairs and a squad of blue-shirted Greeks jabberin'about the war, this is to be a chairless, spittoonless shine factory,where the customer only steps in to sign a monthly contract or registera kick. All the work is to be collected and delivered, same as laundry.

  "I would never have thought of it," explains Vee, "if it hadn't been forTarkins. He's that pasty-faced, sharp-nosed young fellow who's beenhelping the janitor recently. A cousin, I believe. He's a war wreck,too. Just think, Torchy: he was in the trenches for more than a year,and has only been out of a base hospital two months. They wouldn't lethim enlist again; so he came over here to his relatives.

  "It was while he was up trying to stop that radiator leak the other daythat I asked him if he would take out a pair of my boots and find someplace where they could be cleaned. He brought them back inside of halfan hour, beautifully done. And when I insisted on being told where he'dtaken them, so that I might send them to the same place again, headmitted that he had done the work himself. 'My old job, ma'am,' sayshe. 'I was boots at the Argyle Club, ma'am, before I went out to strafethe 'Uns. Seven years, ma'am. But they got a girl doin' it now, aflapper. Wouldn't take me back.' Just fancy! And Tarkins a trench hero!So I got to thinking."

  "I see," says I. "You're going to set Tarkins up, eh?"

  "I'm going to make him my manager," says Vee. "He will have charge ofthe shop and solicit orders. We are going to start with only twopolishers; one for day work, the other for the night shift. And Tarkinswill always be on the job. They're installing a 'phone now, and he willsleep on a cot in the back office. We will work this block first,something like four hundred apartments. Later on--well, we'll see."

  "I don't want to croak," says I, "but do you think folks will send outtheir footwear that way? You know, New Yorkers ain't used to gettin'their shines except on the hoof."

  "I mean to educate them to my 'boots' system," says Vee. "I'm getting upa circular now. I shall show them how much time they can save, how manytips they can avoid. You see, each customer will have a delivery box,with his name and address on it. No chance for mistakes. The boxes canbe set outside the apartment doors. We will have four collections,perhaps; two in the daytime, two at night. And when they see the kind ofwork we do---- Well, you wait."

  "I'll admit it don't listen so worse," says I. "The scheme has its goodpoints. But when you come to teachin' New York people new tricks, likesendin' out their shoes, you're goin' to be up against it."

  "Then you think I can't make 'boots' pay a profit?" asks Vee.

  "That would be my guess," says I. "If it was a question of underwritin'a stock issue for the scheme I'd have to turn it down."

  "Good!" says Vee. "Now I shall work all the harder. Tarkins will bearound early in the morning to get you as our first customer."

  Say, for the next few days she certainly was a busy party--plannin' outher block campaign, lookin' over supply bills, and checkin' up Tarkins'sreports.

  I don't know when I'd ever seen her so interested in anything, or sochirky. Her cheeks were pink all the time and her eyes dancin'. Andsomehow we had such a lot to talk about.

  Course, though, I didn't expect it to last. You wouldn't look for a girllike Vee, who'd never had any trainin' for that sort of thing, to starta new line and make a go of it right off the bat. But, so long as shewasn't investin' very heavy, it didn't matter.

  And then, here last night, after she'd been workin' over heraccount-books for an hour or so, she comes at me with a whoop, and wavesa sheet of paper under my nose excited.

  "Now, Mister Business Man," says she, "what do you think of that?"

  "Eh?" says I, starin' at the figures.

  "One hundred and seventeen regular customers the first week," says she,"and a net profit of $23.45. Now how about underwriting that stockissue?"

  Well, it was a case of backin' up. She had it all figured out plain.She'd made good from the start. And, just to prove that it's real moneythat she's made all by herself, she insists on invitin' me out to acelebration dinner. It's a swell one, too, take it from me.

  And afterwards we sits up until long past midnight while Vee plans achain of "boots" all over the city.

  "Gee!" says I. "Maybe you'll be gettin' yourself written up as 'TheShine Queen of New York' or something like that. Lucky Auntie's inJamaica. Think what a jolt it would give her."

  "I don't care," says Vee. "I've found a job."

  "Guess you have," says I. "And, as I've remarked once or twice before,you're some girl."