CHAPTER V

THE VAMP IN THE WINDOW

It was a case of Vee's being in town on a shoppin' orgie and my being

invited to hunt her up about lunch time.

"Let's see," she 'phoned, "suppose you meet me about 12:30 at the Maison

Noir. You know, West Fifty-sixth. And if I'm having a dress fitted on

the second floor just wait downstairs for me, will you, Torchy?"

"In among all them young lady models?" says I. "Not a chance. You'll

find me hangin' up outside. And don't make it more'n half an hour behind

schedule, Vee, for this is one of my busy days."

"Oh, very well," says she careless.

So that's how I came to be backed up in the lee of the doorway at 12:45

when this stranger with the mild blue eyes and the chin dimple eases in

with the friendly hail.

"Excuse me," says he, "but haven't we met somewhere before?"

Which is where my fatal gift for rememberin' faces and forgettin' names

comes into play. After giving him the quick up and down I had him placed

but not tagged.

"Not quite," says I. "But we lived in the same apartment buildin' a

couple of years back. Third floor west, wasn't you?"

"That's it," says he. "And I believe I heard you'd just been married."

"Yes, we did have a chatty janitor," says I. "You were there with your

mother, from somewhere out on the Coast. We almost got to the noddin'

point when we met in the elevator, didn't we?"

"If we did," says he, "that was the nearest I came to getting acquainted

with anyone in New York. It's the lonesomest hole I was ever in.

Say----"

And inside of three minutes he's told me all about it; how he'd brought

Mother on from Seattle to have a heart specialist give her a three

months' treatment that hadn't been any use, and how he'd come East alone

this time to tie up a big spruce lumber contract with the airplane

department. Also he reminds me that he is Crosby Rhodes and writes the

name of the hotel where he's stopping on his card. It's almost like a

reunion with an old college chum.

"But how do you happen to be sizin' up a show window like this?" says I,

indicatin' the Maison Noir's display of classy gowns. "Got somebody back

home that you might take a few samples to?"

His big, square-cut face sort of pinks up and his mild blue eyes take on

kind of a guilty look as he glances over his shoulder at the window.

"Not a soul," says he. "The fact is, I'm not much of a ladies' man. Been

in the woods too much, I suppose. All the same, though, I've always

thought that if ever I ran across just the right girl----" Here he

scrapes his foot and works up that fussed expression again.

"I see," says I, grinnin'. "You have the plans and specifications all

framed up and think you'd know her on sight, eh?"

Crosby nods and smiles sheepish. "It's gone further than that," says he.

"I--I've seen her."

"Well, well!" says I. "Where?"

He looks around cautious and then whispers confidential. "In that show

window."

"Eh" says I, gawpin'. "Oh! You mean you got the idea from one of the

dummies? Well, that's playin' it safe even if it is a little unique."

Crosby seems to hesitate a minute, as if debatin' whether to let it ride

at that or not, and then he goes on:

"Say," he asks, "do--do they ever put live ones in there?"

"Never heard of it's being done," says I. "Why?"

"Because," says he, "there's one in this window right now."

"You don't say?" says I. "Are you sure?"

"Step around front and I'll point her out," says he. "Now, right over in

that far--Why--why, say! She's gone!"

"Oh, come!" says I. "You've been seein' things, ain't you? Or maybe it

was only one of the salesladies in rearrangin' the display."

"No, no," says Crosby emphatic. "I tell you I had been watching her for

several minutes before I saw you, and she never moved except for a

flutter of the eyelids. She was standing back to, facing that mirror, so

I could see her face quite plainly. More than that, she could see me. Of

course, I wasn't quite sure, with all those others around. That's why I

spoke to you. I wanted to see what you'd say about her. And now she's

disappeared."

"Uh-huh!" says I. "Most likely, too, she was hauled head first through

that door in the back and if you stick around long enough maybe you'll

see her shoved in again, with a different dress on. Say, Mr. Rhodes, no

wonder you're skirt-shy if you never looked 'em over close enough not to

know the dummies from the live ones. Believe me, there's a lot of

difference."

But the josh don't seem to get him at all. He's still gawpin' puzzled

through the plate glass. Finally he goes on: "If this was the first

time, I might think you were right. But it isn't. I--I've seen her

before; several times, in fact."

"As bad as that, eh?" says I. "Then if I was you I'd look up a doctor."

"Now listen," says he. "I don't want you to think I'm foolish in the

head. I'm giving you this straight. Only you haven't heard it all yet.

You see, I've been walking past here nearly every day since I've been in

town--almost three weeks--and at about this time, between twelve-thirty

and one, getting up a luncheon appetite. And about ten days ago I got a

glimpse of this face in the mirror. Somehow I was sure it was a face I'd

seen before, a face I'd been kind of day dreaming about for a year or

more. Yes, I know that may sound kind of batty, but it's a fact. Out in

the big woods you have time for such things. Anyway, when I saw that

reflection it seemed very familiar to me. So the next day I stopped and

took a good look. She was there. And I was certain she was no dummy. I

could see her breathe. She was watching me in the glass, too. It's been

the same every time I've been past."

"Well," says I, "what then?"

"Why," says he, "whether it's someone I've known or not, I want to find

out who she is and how I can meet her for--for--Well, she's the girl."

"Gee!" says I, "you're a reg'lar Mr. Zipp-Zipp when it comes to romantic

notions, ain't you?" And I looks him over curious. As I've always held,

though, that's what you can expect from these boys with chin dimples.

It's the Romeo trade-mark, all right, and Crosby had a deep one. "But

see here," I goes on, "suppose it should turn out that you're wrong;

that this shop window siren of yours was only one of the kind with a

composition head, a figure that they blow up with a bicycle pump, and

wooden feet? Where does that leave you?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I wish you could have seen her," says he.

"What sort of a looker?" I asks. "Blonde or brunette?"

"I don't know," says he. "She has a wonderful complexion--like old

ivory. Her hair is wonderful, too, sort of a pale gold. But her eyebrows

are quite dark, and her eyes--Ah, they're the kind you couldn't

forget--sort of a deep violet, I think; maybe you'd call 'em plum

colored."

"Listens too fancy to be true," says I. "But they do get 'em up that way

for the trade."

There's no jarrin' Crosby loose from his idea, though, and he's just

proposin' that I meet him there at twelve-thirty next day when Vee

drifts out and I has to break away. "I'll let you know if I can," says I

as I walks off.

Course, Vee wants to know who my friend is and all about it, and when

I've sketched out the plot of the piece she's quite thrilled. "How

interesting!" says she. "I do hope he finds out it's a real girl Some of

those models are simply stunning, you know. And there is such a thing

as a face haunting you. Oh, by the way! Do you remember the Stribbles?"

"Should I?" I asks.

"The janitor's family in that apartment building where we used to live,"

explains Vee.

"Stribble?" says I. "Oh, yes, the poddy old party who did all the hard

sitting around while his wife did the work. What reminded you of them?"

"I'm sure I don't know," says Vee. "But a month or so ago I saw the name

printed in an army list of returned casualty cases--there was a boy, you

know, and a girl--and I thought then that we ought to look them up and

find out. Then I forgot all about it until just a few moments ago. Let's

go there, Torchy, before we go out home tonight?"

I must say I couldn't get very much excited over the Stribbles, but on

the chance that Vee would forget again I promised, and let her tow me

into one of those cute little tea rooms where we had a perfectly punk

lunch at a dollar ten per each. But even after a three hour session

among the white goods sales Vee still remembered the Stribbles, so about

five o'clock we finds ourselves divin' into a basement that's none too

clean and are being received by a tall, skinny female with a tously mop

of sandy hair bobbed up on her head.

It seems Ma Stribble was still shovelin' most of the ashes and

scrubbin' the halls as well; while Pa Stribble, fatter than ever and in

the same greasy old togs, continues to camp in a rickety arm chair by

the front window, with a pail of suds at his right elbow. Yes, the one

mentioned in the casualty list was their Jimmy. Only he hadn't come back

a trench hero, exactly. He'd collected his blighty ticket without being

at the front at all--by gettin' mixed up with a steel girder in some

construction work. A mashed foot was the total damage, and he was having

a real good time at the base hospital; would be as good as new in a week

or so.

"Isn't that fortunate?" says Vee. "And your daughter, where is she?"

"Mame?" says Ma Stribble, scowlin' up quick. "Gawd knows where she is. I

don't."

"Why, what do you mean?" asks Vee. "She--she hasn't left home, has she?"

"Oh, she sleeps here," goes on Ma Stribble, "and comes home for some of

her meals, but the rest of the time----" Here she hunches her shoulders.

"Huh!" grunts Pa Stribble. "If you could see the way she togs herself

out--like some chorus girl. I don't know where she gets all them flossy

things and she won't tell. Paint on her face, too. It's bringin' shame

on us, I tell her."

Mrs. Stribble sighs heavy. "And we was tryin' to bring her up decent,"

says she. "I got her a job, waitin' in a lunch room up on' the Circle.

But she was too good for that. Oh, my, yes! Chucked it after the first

week. And then she began bloomin' out in fine feathers. Won't say where

she gets 'em, either. And her always throwin' up to her father about not

workin', when he's got the rheumatism so bad he can hardly walk at

times! Gettin' to be too much of a lady to live in a basement, she is.

Humph!"

It looked like Vee had started something, for the Stribbles were

knockin' Mame something fierce, when all of a sudden they quits and we

hears the street door open. A minute later and in walks a tall, willowy

young party wearin' a near-leopard throw-scarf, one of these snappy

French tams, and a neat black suit that fits her like it had been run on

hot.

If it hadn't been for the odd shade of hair and the eyes I wouldn't have

remembered her at all for the stringy, sloppy dressed flapper I used to

see going in and out with the growler or helping with the sweepin'. Mame

Stribble had bloomed out, for a fact. Also she'd learned how to use a

lip-stick and an eyebrow pencil. I couldn't say whether she'd touched up

her complexion or not. If she had it was an artistic job--just a faint

rose-leaf tint under the eyes. And I had to admit that the whole effect

was some stunnin'. Course, she's more or less surprised to see all the

comp'ny, but Vee soon explains how we've come to hear about Brother Jim

and she shakes hands real friendly.

"I suppose you are working somewhere?" suggests Vee.

Mame nods.

"Where?" asks Vee, going to the point, as usual.

Miss Stribble glances accusin' at paw and maw. "Oh, they've been

roastin' me, have they?" she demands. "Well, I can't help it. What they

want to know is how much I'm gettin' so I'll have to give up more. But

it don't work. See! I pay my board--good board, at that--and I'm not

goin' to have paw snoopin' around my place tryin' to queer me. Let him

get out and rustle for himself."

With that Mame sheds the throw-scarf and tosses her velvet tam on the

table.

"I'm so sorry," says Vee. "I didn't mean to interfere at all. And I've

no doubt you have a perfectly good situation."

"It's good enough," says Mame, "until I strike something better."

"What a cunning little hat!" says Vee, pickin' up the tam. "Such a lot

of style to it, too."

"Think so?" says Mame. "Well, I built it myself."

"Really!" says Vee. "Why, you must be very clever. I wish I could do

things like that."

Trust Vee for smoothin' down rumpled feathers when she wants to. Inside

of two minutes she had Mame smilin' grateful and holdin' her hand as she

says good-by.

"Poor girl!" says Vee, as we gets to the street. "I don't blame her for

being dissatisfied with such a father as that. And it's just awful the

way they talk about her. I'm going to see if I can't do something for

her at the shop."

"Eh?" says I. "She didn't tell you where she was working."

"She didn't need to," says Vee. "The name was in the hat lining--the

Maison Noir."

"Say, you're some grand little sleuth yourself, ain't you?" says I.

"And that explains," Vee goes on, "why I happened to remember the

Stribbles today. I must have seen her there. Yes, I'm sure I did--that

pale gold hair and the old ivory complexion are too rare to----"

"Why!" I breaks in, "that's the description Crosby Rhodes gave me of

this show window charmer of his."

"Was it?" says Vee. "Then perhaps----"

"But what could she have been doing, posin' in the window?" I asks.

"That's what gets me."

It got Vee, too. "Anyway," says she, "you must meet that Mr. Rhodes

tomorrow and tell him what you've discovered. He's rather a nice chap,

isn't he?"

"Oh, he's all right, I guess," says I. "A bit soft above the ears,

maybe, but out in the tall timber I expect he passes for a solid

citizen. I don't just see how I'm going to help him out much, though."

"I'll tell you," says Vee. "In the morning I will 'phone to Madame

Maurice that I want you to see the frock I've picked out, and you can

take Mr. Rhodes in with you."

So that's the way we worked it. I calls up Crosby, makes the date, and

we meets on the corner at twelve-thirty. He's more or less excited.

"Then you think you know who she is?" he asks.

"If you're a good describer," says I, "there's a chance that I do. But

listen: suppose she's kind of out of your class--a girl who's been

brought up in a basement, say, with a janitor for a father?"

"What do I care who her father is?" says Crosby. "I was brought up in a

lumber camp myself. All I ask is a chance to meet her."

"You sure know what you want," says I. "Come on."

"See!" he whispers as we get to the Maison Noir's show window. "She's

there!"

And sure enough, standin' back to, over in the corner facin' the mirror,

is this classy figure in the zippy street dress, with Mame Stribble's

hair and eyes. She's doin' the dummy act well, too. I couldn't see

either breath or eye flutter.

"Huh!" says I. "It's by me. Let's go in and interview Madame Maurice."

We had to waste four or five minutes while I inspects the dress Vee has

bought, and I sure felt foolish standin' there watchin' this young lady

model glide back and forth.

"I trust Monsieur approves?" asks Madame Maurice.

"Oh, sure!" says I. "Quite spiffy. But say, I noticed one in the window

that sort of took my eye--that street dress, in the corner."

"Street dress?" says the Madame, lookin' puzzled. "Is M'sieur certain?"

"Maybe I'd better point it out."

But by the time I'd towed her to the front door there was nothing of the

kind in sight.

"As I thought," says Madame. "A slight mistake."

"Looks so, don't it?" says I, as we trails back in. "But you have a Miss

Mamie Stribble working here, haven't you; a young lady with kind of

goldy hair, dark eyebrows and a sort of old ivory complexion?"

"Ah!" says the Madame. "Perhaps you mean Marie St. Ribble?"

"That's near enough," says I. "Could I have a few words with her?"

"But yes," says Madame Maurice. "It is her hour for luncheon. I will

see." With that she calls up an assistant, shoos me into a back parlor

and asks me to wait a moment, leavin' Crosby out front with his mouth

open.

And two minutes later in breezes the Madame leadin' Mame Stribble by the

arm. The lady boss seems somewhat peeved, too. "Tell me," she demands,

"is this the street dress which you observed in the window?"

"That's the very one," says I.

"Hah!" says she. "Then perhaps Marie will explain to me later. For the

present, M'sieur, I leave you."

"Sorry if I've put you in bad, Miss Stribble," says I, as the Madame

sweeps out.

"Oh, that's all right," says Mame, tossin' her chin. "She'll get over

it. And, anyway, I was takin' a chance."

"So I noticed," says I. "What was the big idea, though?"

"Just sizin' up the people who pass by," says Mame. "It's grand sport

havin' 'em stretch their necks at you and thinkin' you're just a dummy.

I got onto it one day while I was changin' a model. Course, it cuts into

my lunch time, and I have to sneak a dress out of stock, but it's kind

of fun."

"'Specially when you've got one particular young gent coming to watch

regular, eh?" I suggests.

That seems to give her sort of a jolt and for a second she stares at me,

bitin' her upper lip. "Who do you mean, now?" she asks.

"He has a chin dimple and his name's Crosby Rhodes," says I. "You've put

the spell on him for fair, too. He's out front, waiting to meet you."

"Oh, is he?" says Mame, lettin' on not to care. "And yet when he was

livin' in one of our apartments he passed me every day without seein' me

at all."

"Oh, ho!" says I. "You took notice of him, though, did you?"

Miss Stribble pinks up at that. "Yes, I did," says she. "He struck me as

a reg'lar feller, one of the kind you could tie to. And when he'd almost

step over me without noticin'--well, I'll admit that sort of hurt. I

expect that's why I made up my mind to shake the mop and pail outfit and

break in some place where I could pick up a few tricks. After a few

stabs I landed here at the Maison. I remember I had on a saggy skirt and

a shirtwaist that must have looked like it had been improvised out of a

coffee sack. It's a wonder they let me past the door. But they did. For

the first six weeks, though, they kept me in the work rooms. Then I got

one of the girls to help me evenings on a black taffeta; I saved up

enough for two pairs of silk stockin's, blew myself to some pumps with

four inch heels, and begun carryin' a vanity box. It worked. Next thing

I knew they had me down on the main floor carryin' stock to the models

and now and then displayin' misses' styles to customers. I had a hunch

I was gettin' easier to look at, but you never can tell by the way women

size you up. All they see is the dress. And in the window there I had a

chance to see whether I was registerin' with the men. That's the whole

tragic tale."

"Leaving out Crosby Rhodes."

"That's so," admits Mame. "And it was some satisfaction, bringin' him to

life."

"You've done more'n that," says I. "He's one of these guys that wants

what he wants, and goes after it strong. Just now it seems to be you."

"How inter-estin'!" says Mame. "Tell me, what's his line?"

"Airplane timber," says I. "He's from out on the Coast."

"Oh!" says she. "From one of these little

straight-through-on-Main-street burgs, I suppose?"

"Headquarters in Seattle, I understand," says I. "That's hardly on the

Tom show circuit."

"Yes, I guess I've heard of the place," says Mame. "But what's his

proposition!"

"First off," says I, "Crosby wants to get acquainted. If he has any

hymen stuff up his sleeve, I expect you'd better hear that from him

personally. The question now is, do you want to meet him?"

"Oh, I dunno," says Mame careless. "I guess I'll take a chance."

"Then forget that vanishing act of yours," says I, "and I'll run him

in."

And, honest, as I slips out of the Maison Noir and beats it for my

lunch, I felt like I'd done a day's work. What it would come to was by

me. They was off my hands, anyway.

That couldn't have been over a week ago. And here only yesterday Crosby

comes crashin' into the Corrugated general offices, pounds me

enthusiastic on the back, and announces that I'm the best friend he's

got in the world.

"Meanin', I expect," says I, "that Miss Stribble and you have been

gettin' on?"

"Old man," says Crosby, his mild blue eyes sparklin', "she's a wonderful

girl--wonderful! And within a week she's going to be Mrs. Crosby Rhodes.

We start for home just as soon as the Maison Noir can turn out her

trousseau; which is going to be some outfit, take it from me."

I hope I said something appropriate. If I didn't I expect Crosby was too

excited to notice. Also that night I carried home the bulletin to Vee.

"There!" says Vee. "I just knew, the moment I saw her, that she wasn't

at all as that horrid old man tried to make us believe."

"No," says I, "Mame's vamping was just practice stuff. A lot of it is

like that, I expect."

"But wasn't it odd," goes on Vee, "about her meeting the very man she'd

liked from the first?"

"Well, not so very," says I. "With that show window act she had the net

spread kind of wide. The only chance Crosby had of escape was by staying

out of New York, and nobody does that for very long at a time."