Author: Sewell Ford
Category: Humorous
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CHAPTER II
TORCHY MAKES THE SIR CLASS
Say, it's all right, gettin' the quick boost up the ladder, providin'you don't let it make you dizzy in the head. And, believe me, I was nearit! You see, bein' jumped from office boy to private sec, all in oneafternoon, was some breath-takin' yank.
I expect the full force of what had happened didn't hit me until herethe other mornin' when I strolls into the Corrugated gen'ral offices onthe new nine o'clock schedule and finds this raw recruit holdin' down myold chair behind the rail. Nice, smooth-haired, bright-eyed youngster,with his ears all scoured out pink and his knickerbocker suit brushedneat. He hops up and opens the gate real respectful for me.
"Well, Son," says I, "what does Mother call you?"
"Vincent, Sir," says he.
"Some class to that, too," says I. "But how do you know, Vincent, thatI'm one of the reg'lar staff and not canvassin' for something?"
"I don't, Sir," says he, "until I see if you know where to hang yourhat."
"Good domework, Vincent," says I. "On that I'm backin' you to hold thejob."
"Thank you, Sir," says he. "I told Mother I'd do my best."
And with that he springs a bashful smile. It was the "Sir" every timethat caught me, though. For more'n four years I'd been just Torchy orBoy to all hands in the shop, from Old Hickory down; and now all of asudden I finds there's one party at least that rates me in the Sirclass. Kind of braced me for swingin' past all that row of giggly ladytypists and on into Mr. Robert's private office.
Thrill No. 2 arrived half an hour later. In postin' myself as to whatthis Mutual Fundin' Company really is that I'm supposed to be workin'for, I needed some papers from the document safe. And for the first timeI pushes the buzzer button. Prompt and eager in comes Vincent, the fairhaired.
"Know which is Mr. Piddie, do you?" says I.
"Oh, yes, Sir," says he.
"Well," says I, "tell him I need those--no, better ask him to step inhere a minute."
Honest, I wa'n't plannin' to rub it in, either. Course, I'd done a gooddeal of trottin' for Piddie, and a lot of it wa'n't for anything elsethan to let him show his authority; but I didn't hold any grudge. I'dsquared the account in my own way. How he was goin' to take it now Iwas the one to send for him, I didn't know; but there wa'n't any usedodgin' the issue.
And you should have seen Piddie make his first official entrance! Youknow how stiff and wooden he is as a rule? Well, as he marches in overthe rug and comes to a parade rest by the desk, he's about as limber asa length of gas pipe. And solemn? That long face of his would havesoured condensed milk!
"Yes, Sir?" says he. And to me, mind you! It come out a little husky,like it was bein' filtered through strong emotions; but there it is.Piddie has sirred me his first "Sir."
He knows a roll-top when he sees one, Piddie does, and he ain't omittin'any deference due. You know the type? He's one of the kind that was bornto be "our Mr. Piddie"; the sort that takes off his hat to avice-president, and holds his breath in the presence of the big wheeze.But, say, I don't want any joss-sticks burned for me.
"Ditch it, Piddie," says I, "ditch it!"
"I--er--I beg pardon?" says he.
"The Sir stuff," says I. "Just because I'm behind the ground glassinstead of the brass rail don't make me a sacred being, or you alobbygow, does it? I guess we've known each other too long for that,eh?" And I holds out the friendly mitt.
Honest, he's got a human streak in him, Piddie has, if you know whereto strike it. The cast-iron effect comes out of his shoulders, thewooden look from his face. He almost smiles.
"Thank you, Torchy," says he. "I--er--my congratulations on yournew----"
"We'll spread 'em on the minutes," says I, "and proceed to show theCorrugated some teamwork that mere salaries can't buy. Are you on?"
He was. Inside of three minutes he'd chucked that stiff-necked, flunkypose and was coachin' me like a big brother, and by the time he'd beatinto my head all he knew about the Fundin' Comp'ny we was as chummy astwo survivors of the same steamer wreck. Simple, I know; but this littleexperience made me feel like I'd signed a gen'ral peace treaty with theworld at large.
I hadn't, though. An hour later I runs up against Willis G. Briscoe.He's kind of an outside development manager, who makes preliminaryreports on new deals. One of these cold-eyed, chesty parties, Willis G.is; tall and thin, and with a big, bowwow voice that has a rasp to it.
"Huh!" says he, as he discovers me busy at the desk. "I heard of thisout in Chicago three days ago; but I thought it must be a joke."
"Them reporters do get things straight now and then, don't they?" saysI.
"Reporters!" he snorts. "Philip wrote me about it."
"Oh!" says I. "Cousin Philip, eh?"
And that gave me the whole plot of the piece. Cousin Phil was acigarette-consumin' college discard that Willis G. had been nursin'along in the bondroom, waitin' for a better openin'; and this jump ofmine had filled a snap job that he'd had his eyes on for Cousin.
"I suppose you're only temporary, though," says he.
"That's all," says I. "Mr. Ellins will be resignin' in eight or tenyears, I expect, and then they'll want me in his chair. Nice mornin',ain't it?"
"Bah!" says he, registerin' deep disgust, as they say in the moviescripts. "You'll do well if you last eight or ten days."
"How cheerin'!" says I, and as he swings off with a final glare I tipshim the humorous wink.
Why not? No young-man-afraid-of-his-job part for me! Briscoe might getit away from me, or he might not; but I wa'n't goin' to get panicky overit. Let him do his worst!
He didn't need any urgin'. With a little scoutin' around he discoversthat about the only assignment on my hook so far is this Rowley matter:you know, the old inventor guy with the mill-tailings scheme. And thefirst hint I had that he was wise to that was when Mr. Robert calls meover after lunch and explains how this Rowley business sort of comes inMr. Briscoe's department.
"So I suppose you'd better turn it over to him," says he.
"Just as you say," says I. "The old gent is due at two-fifteen, and I'llshunt him onto Briscoe."
Which I did. And at two-thirty-five Briscoe breezes in with his report.
"Nothing to it," says he. "This Rowley person has a lot of half-bakedideas about briquets and retort recoveries, and talks vaguely of bigprofits; but he's got nothing practical. I shipped him off."
"But," says Mr. Robert, "I think he was promised that his schemes shouldhave a consideration by the board."
"Very well," says Willis G. jaunty. "I'll give 'em a report nextmeeting. Wednesday, isn't it? Hardly worth wasting their time over,though."
And here I'd been boostin' the Rowley proposition to Mr. Robert good andhard, almost gettin' him enthusiastic over it! I was smeared, that'sall! My first stab at makin' myself useful in my new swing-chair job hasbeen brushed aside as a beginner's bungle; and there sits Mr. Robert,prob'ly wonderin' if he hadn't made a mistake in takin' me off the gate!
I stares at a row of empty pigeonholes for a solid hour after that, notdoin' a blamed thing but race my thinkin' gears tryin' to find out whereI was at. This dummy act that I'd been let in for might be all right forsome; but it didn't suit me. I've got to have action in mine.
So, long before quittin' time, I slams the desk cover down and pikes outon Rowley's trail. He might be a dead duck; but I wanted to know how andwhy. I had his address all right, and it didn't take me long to locatehim in a fifth-story loft down on lower Sixth-ave. It's an odd jointtoo, with a cot bed in one corner, a work bench along the avenue side, acook-stove in the middle, and a kitchen table where the coffeepot wascrowded on each side by a rack of test tubes. Old Rowley himself, withhis sleeves rolled up, is sittin' in a rickety arm chair peelin'potatoes. He's grouchy too.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" says he. "Well, you might just as well trot rightback to the Corrugated Trust and tell 'em that Old Hen Rowley don't givetwo hoots for their whole outfit."
"I take it you didn't
get on so well with Mr. Briscoe?" says I.
"Briscoe!" he grunts savage. "Who could talk business to a smart Aleclike that! He knew it all before I'd begun. You'd think I was trying tosell him a gold brick. All right! We'll see what the Bethlehem peoplehave to say."
"What?" says I. "Before you get the final word from us?"
"I've had it," says he. "Briscoe is final enough for me."
"You're easy satisfied," says I, "or else you're easy beat. I didn'ttake you for a quitter, either."
Say, that got to him. "Quitter, eh!" says he. "See here, Son, how longdo you think I've been plugging at this thing? Nine years. And for thelast four I've been giving it all my time, day in and day out, and manya night as well. I've been living with it, in this loft here, like ablessed hermit; testing and perfecting, trying out my processes, andfighting the Patent Office sharks between times. Nine years--the best ofmy life! Call that quitting, do you?"
"Well, that is sticking around some," says I. "Think you've got yourschemes so they'll work?"
"I don't think," says he; "I know."
"But what's the good," I goes on, "if you can't make other folks seeyou've got a good thing?"
"I can, though," he says. "Why, any person with even ordinaryintelligence can----"
"That's me," says I. "My nut is just about a stock pattern size, sixand seven-eighths, or maybe seven. Come, try it on me, if it's sosimple. Now what about this retort business?"
That got him goin'. Rowley drops the potatoes, and in another minutewe're neck-deep in the science of makin' an ore puddin', doin' stuntswith the steam, skimmin' dividends off the pot, and coinin' the slaginto dollars.
I ain't lettin' him slip over any gen'ral propositions on me, either.I'm right there with the Missouri stuff. He has to go clear back tofirst principles every time he makes a statement, and work up to itgradual. Course, I was keepin' him jollied along too, and while it musthave been sort of hopeless at the start, inoculatin' a cauliflower likemine with higher chemistry, I fin'lly showed one or two gleams thatencouraged him to keep on. Anyway, we hammered away at the subject, onlystoppin' to make coffee and sandwiches, until near two o'clock in themornin'.
"Help!" says I, glancin' at the nickel alarm clock. "My head feels likea stuffed sausage. A little more, and I won't know whether I'm a nitroussulphide or a ferrous oxide of bromo seltzer. Let's take the rest inanother dose."
Rowley chuckles and agrees to call it a day, I didn't let on anything atthe office next morning; but by eight A.M. I was planted at theroll-top with my elbows squared, tryin' to write out as much of thatchemistry dope as I could remember. And it's surprising ain't it, what alot of information you can sop up when you do the sponge act in earnest?I found there was a lot of points, though, that I was foggy on; so Imakes an early getaway and puts in another long session with Rowley.
And, take it from me, by Tuesday I was well loaded. Also I had my planof campaign all mapped out; for you mustn't get the idea I was packin'my bean full of all this science dope just to see if it would stand thestrain. Not so, Clarice! I'd woke up to the fact that I was bein'carried along by the Corrugated as a sort of misfit inner tube stowed inthe bottom of the tool-box, and that it was up to me to make good.
So the first openin' I has I tackles Mr. Robert on the side.
"About that Rowley proposition?" says I.
"Oh, yes," says he. "I fear Mr. Briscoe thinks unfavorably of it."
"Then he's fruity in the pan," says I.
"We have been in the habit of accepting his judgment in such matters,"says Mr. Robert.
"Maybe," says I; "but here's once when he's handin' you a stall. Andyou're missin' out on something good too."
Mr. Robert smiles skeptical. "Really?" says he. "Perhaps you would liketo present a minority report?"
"Nothin' less," says I. "Oh, it may listen like a joke, but that's justwhat I got in mind."
"H-m-m-m!" says Mr. Robert. "You realize that Briscoe is one of theleading mining authorities in the country, I suppose, and that we payhim a large salary as consulting engineer?"
I nods. "I know," says I. "And the nearest I ever got to seein' a minewas watchin' 'em excavate for the subway. I'm admittin' all that."
"I may add too," goes on Mr. Robert, "that he has a way of stating hisopinions quite convincingly."
"Yep," says I, "I should judge that. But if I think he's bilkin' you onthis, is it my play to sit behind and chew my tongue?"
"By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, his sportin' instincts comin' to the top."You shall have your chance, Torchy. The directors shall hear yourviews; to-morrow, at two-thirty. You will follow Briscoe."
"Let's not bill it ahead, then," says I, "if it'll be fair to spring iton him."
"Quite," says Mr. Robert; "and rather more amusing, I fancy. I willarrange it."
"I'd like to have old Rowley on the side lines, in case I get stuck,"says I.
"Oh, certainly," says he. "Bring Mr. Rowley if you wish. And if thereare any preparations you would like to make----"
"I got one or two," says I, startin' for the door; "so mark me off untilabout to-morrow noon."
Busy? Well, say, a kitten with four feet stuck in the flypaper didn'thave anything on me. I streaks it for Sixth-ave. and lands in Rowley'sloft all out of breath.
"What's up?" says he.
"The case of Briscoe _et al. vs._ Rowley," says I. "It's to be threshedout before the full Corrugated board to-morrow at two-thirty. I'm thecounsel for the defense."
"Well, what of it?" says he.
"I want to use you as Exhibit A," says I, "in case of an emergency."
"All right," says he. "I'll go along if you say so."
"Good!" says I. And then came the hard part. "Rowley," I goes on, "whatsize collar do you wear?"
"But what has that to do with it?" says he.
"Now don't get peeved," says I; "but you know the kind our directorsare,--flossy, silk-lined old sports, most of 'em; and they're apt tosize up strangers a good deal by their haberdashery. So I was wonderin'if I couldn't blow you to a neat, pleated bosom effect with attachedcuffs."
"Oh, I see," says Rowley, glancin' at his gray flannel workin' shirt."Anything else?"
"I don't expect you'd want to part with that face shrubbery, or have itlandscaped into a Vandyke, eh?" says I. "You know they ain't wearin' thebushy kind now in supertax circles."
"Would you insist on my being manicured too?" says he, chucklin' easy.
"It would help," says I. "And this would be my buy all round."
"That's a generous offer, Son," says he, "and I don't know how long it'sbeen since anyone has taken so much personal interest in Old Hen Rowley.Seems nice too. I suppose I am rather a shabby old duffer to be visitingthe offices of great and good corporations. Yes, I'll spruce up a bit;and if I find it costs more than I can afford--now let's see how my cashstands."
With that he digs into a hip pocket and unlimbers a roll of corn-tintedkale the size of your wrist. Maybe they wa'n't all hundreds clear to thecore, but that's what was on the outside.
"Whiffo!" says I. "Excuse me for classin' you so near the bread line;but by your campin' in a loft, and the longshoreman's shirt, and soon----"
"Very natural, Son," he breaks in. "And I see your point all theclearer. I've no business going about so. The whiskers shall be trimmed.But your people up at the Corrugated have evidently made up their mindsto turn us down."
"Maybe," says I; "but if they do, it won't be on any snap decision ofBriscoe's. And unless I get tongue tied at the last minute we're goin'to have a run for our money."
That was what worried me most,--could I come across with the standin'spiel? But, believe me, I wa'n't trustin' to any offhand stuff! I'd gotto know in advance what I meant to feed 'em, line for line and word forword. By ten o'clock that night I had it all down on paper too--andperhaps I didn't chew the penholder and leak some from the brow while Iwas doin' it!
Then came the rehearsin'. Say, you should have seen me risin' dignifiedbehind the washstand in my
room, strikin' a Bill Bryan pose, and smilin'calm at the bedposts as I launched out on my speech. Not that I wastryin' to chuck any flowers of oratory. What I aimed to do was to tell'em about Rowley's schemes as simple and straight away as I could,usin' one-syllable words for the most part, cannin' the slang, andsoundin' as many final G's as my tongue would let me. Before I turned intoo, I had it almost pat; but I hardly dared to go to sleep for fear itwould get away from me.
Say, but it ain't any cinch, this breakin' into public life, is it? Theobscure guy with the dinner pail and the calloused palms thinks he hashard lines; but when the whistle blows he can wipe his trowel on hisoveralls and forget it all until next day. But here I tosses aroundrestless in the feathers, and am up at daybreak goin' over my pieceagain, trembly in the knees, with a vivid mental picture of how cheapI'd feel if I should go to pieces when the time came.
A good breakfast pepped me up a lot, though, and by noon I had them fewremarks of mine so I could say 'em backwards or forwards. How they wasgoin' to sound outside of my room was another matter. I had my doubtsalong that line; but I was goin' to give 'em the best I had in stock.
It was most time for the session to begin when Vincent boy trots in witha card announcin' Mr. Henry Clay Rowley. And, say, when thissmooth-faced party in the sporty Scotch tweed suit and the new modelpearl gray lid shows up, I has to gasp! He's had himself tailored andbarbered until he looks like an English investor come over huntin' sixper cent. dividends for a Bank of England surplus.
"Zowie!" says I. "Some speed to you, Mr. Rowley. And class? Say, youlook like you was about to dump a trunkful of Steel preferred on themarket, instead of a few patents."
"I'm giving your advice a thorough trial, you see," says he.
"That's the stuff!" says I. "It's the dolled up gets the dollars thesedays. Be sure and sit where they'll get a good view."
Then we went into the directors' room and heard Willis G. Briscoedeliver his knock. He does it snappy and vigorous, and when he's throughit didn't listen like anything more could be said. He humps his eyebrowshumorous when Mr. Robert announces that perhaps the board might like tohear another view of the subject.
"Torchy," goes on Mr. Robert, "you have the floor."
For a second or so, though, I felt like spreadin' out so I wouldn't slipthrough a crack. All of a sudden too, my mouth had gone dry and I had apanicky notion that my brain had ossified. Then I got a glimpse of themshrewd blue eyes of Rowley's smilin' encouragin' at me, the first fewsentences of my speech filtered back through the bone, I got my tonguemovin', and I was off.
Funny how you can work out of a scare that way, ain't it? Why, say, thefirst thing I knew I'd picked out old D. K. Rutgers, the worst fish-facein the bunch, and was throwin' the facts into him like I was shovelin'coal into a cellar chute. Beginnin' with Rowley's plan for condensin'commercial acids from the blast fumes, explainin' the chemical processthat produced 'em, and how they could be caught on the fly and canned incarboys for the trade, I galloped through the whole proposition, backin'up every item with figures and formulas; until I showed 'em how the slagthat now cost 'em so much to get rid of could be sold for roadballastin' and pressed into buildin' blocks at a profit of twentydollars a ton. I didn't let anything go just by statin' it bald. I tookBriscoe's objections one by one, shot 'em full of holes with thecome-backs Rowley had coached me on, and then proceeded to clinch theargument until I had old Rutgers noddin' his head.
"And these, Gentlemen," I winds up with, "are what Mr. Briscoe calls thevague, half-baked ideas of an unpractical inventor. He's an expert, Mr.Briscoe is! I'm not. I wouldn't know a supersaturated solution ofmethylcalcites from a stein of Hoboken beer; but I'm willin' to believethere's big money in handling either, providing you don't spill too muchon the inside. Mr. Rowley claims you're throwing away millions a year.He says he can save it for you. He wants to show you how you can juggleore so you can save everything but the smell. He's here on the spot, andif you want to quiz him about details, go as deep as you like."
Did they? Say, that seance didn't break up until six-fifteen, and beforethe board adjourns Rowley had a whackin' big option check in his fist,and a resolution had gone through to install an experiment plan as soonas it could be put up. An hour before that Willis G. Briscoe had donethe silent sneak, wearin' his mouth droopy.
Mr. Robert meets me outside with the fraternal grip and says he's proudof me.
"Thanks, Mr. Robert," says I. "It was a case of framin' up a job formyself, or else four-flushin' along until you tied the can to me. And Ineed the Corrugated just now."
"No more, I'm beginning to suspect," says he, "than the Corrugated needsyou."
Which was some happy josh for an amateur private sec to get from theboss! Eh?