Torchy and Vee   By: Sewell Ford (1868-1946)

BY SEWELL FORD AUTHOR OF TORCHY, THE HOUSE OF TORCHY, SHORTY McCABE, Etc.

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Copyright, 1918, 1919, by SEWELL FORD Copyright, 1919, BY EDWARD J. CLODE All rights reserved

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

FOREWORD

In the Nature of an Alibi

Some of these stories were written while the Great War was still on. So the setting and local coloring and atmosphere and all that sort of thing, such as it is, came from those strenuous days when we heroic civilians read the war extras with stern, unflinching eye, bought as many Liberty bonds as we were told we should, and subscribed to various drives as cheerfully as we might. Have you forgotten your reactions of a few short months ago? Perhaps then, these may revive your memory of some of them.

You may note with disappointment that Torchy got no nearer to the front line trenches than Bridgeport, Conn. That is a sentiment the writer shares with you. But the blame lies with an overcautious government which hesitated, perhaps from super humane reasons, from turning loose on a tottering empire a middle aged semi literary person who was known to handle a typewriter with such reckless abandon. And where he could not go himself he refused to send another. So Torchy remained on this side, and whether or not his stay was a total loss is for you to decide. S. F.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Quick Shunt for Puffy 1 II. Old Hickory Bats Up One 19 III. Torchy Pulls the Deep Stuff 37 IV. A Frame up for Stubby 56 V. The Vamp in the Window 73 VI. Turkeys on the Side 91 VII. Ernie and His Big Night 108 VIII. How Babe Missed His Step 126 IX. Hartley and the G. O. G.'s 145 X. The Case of Old Jonesey 164 XI. As Lucy Lee Passed By 182 XII. Torchy Meets Ellery Bean 200 XIII. Torchy Strays from Broadway 222 XIV. Subbing for the Boss 238 XV. A Late Hunch for Lester 256 XVI. Torchy Tackles a Mystery 272 XVII. With Vincent at the Turn 290

TORCHY AND VEE

CHAPTER I

THE QUICK SHUNT FOR PUFFY

I must say I didn't get much excited at first over this Marion Gray tragedy. You see, I'd just blown in from Cleveland, where I'd been shunted by the Ordnance Department to report on a new motor kitchen. And after spendin' ten days soppin' up information about a machine that was a cross between a road roller and an owl lunch wagon, and fillin' my system with army stews cooked on the fly, I'm suddenly called off. Someone at Washington had discovered that this flying cook stove thing was a problem for the Quartermaster's Department, and wires me to drop it.

So I was all for enjoyin' a little fam'ly reunion, havin' Vee tell me how she's been gettin' along, and what cute little tricks young Master Richard had developed while I'm gone. But right in the midst of our intimate little domestic sketch Vee has to break loose with this outside sigh stuff.

"I can't help thinking about poor Marion," says she.

"Eh?" says I, lookin' up from the crib where young Snookums has just settled himself comfortable and decided to tear off a few more hours of slumber. "Which Marion?"

"Why, Marion Gray," says she.

"Oh!" says I. "The old maid with the patient eyes and the sad smile?"