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Ford, Sewell, 1868-1946

"Wilt Thou Torchy"


"Mees Verona, she coom," suggests Helma.
"Good!" says I. "I'd like a word with her, anyway."
Having just finished her canter in the park, Vee is still in her riding
togs; and, take it from me, that's some snappy costume of hers. Maybe
she ain't easy to look at, too, as she floats in with the pink in her
cheeks and her eyes sparklin'. Wish I could fit into a frock-coat like
that, or wear such shiny little boots. Even Old Hickory cheers up a
bit at sight of her.
"Why, Torchy!" says she, holdin' out her hand. "And Mr. Ellins!"
"Morning calls right along for me, after this," says I, sort of walkin'
around her. "It's worth while."
"Old thing!" says she. "Don't be silly. But what is the matter?"
I glances at Mr. Ellins. "Shall I tell?" says I.
"As that seems to be your specialty," says he, "perhaps you had better."
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," says I, salutin'.
Then I turns to Vee. "Seen Auntie this morning?" I asks.
"Why, no," says Vee. "I was up rather early, you know."
"Not so early as she was," says I. "What do you think she's done?
Jumped in on that treasure hunt I was tellin' you of. She's pinched
Rupert, and by now maybe they're on their way South."
Vee stares at me for a second, and then gives one of them ripply laughs.


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