"Oh, you Miss Vee!" I megaphones through my hands, just as enthusiastic as anybody on the pier.
About the third call catches her ear. She sort of starts and gazes at the crowd kind of puzzled. There's such a mob, though, she don't pick me out. I could see her turn to Marjorie and say something, and then I gets wise to the fact that the four-eyed gent with the bristly hair and the half gray set of shavin' brush mustaches, standin' next to Marjorie, was one of their party. Miss Vee leans over and passes along some remark to him, and he shrugs his shoulders and says something that makes 'em both laugh.
"If that's the Count," thinks I, "he's a punk specimen."
A couple of minutes later the boat comes alongside and the passengers break away from the rail to get in line for the gangplank. As I'm there to welcome Miss Marjorie Ellins, I has to post myself near the E section, and inside of fifteen minutes she's all through havin' her suitcase and steamer trunk pawed over, and leavin' the hold baggage to be claimed later, we streams out to where I had a cab waitin'.
"Is it all aboard, Miss Marjorie?" says I.
"Not yet," says she. "You see, I've asked Vee to come home with me for dinner--the girl I met on the steamer. You don't mind waiting, do you?"
Did I? Say, nobody would suspect it, I guess, by the grin I had on when she and Aunty and the four-eyed party comes trailin' out.
"Say, Miss Marjorie," says I, "is that Count Schutzenbund?"
"Schlegelhessen," says Marjorie, "and he's a perfect----"
"Yes, I've heard he was," says I. "Little antique, though, ain't he?"
"Why, he isn't forty!" says Marjorie. "And he's just too----"
There wa'n't time for any more bouquets, though; for the trio was too close. Must have been some of a surprise for Vee to see me waitin' there, and for a bit she don't seem to make out just who it is. That only lasts a second, though. Then them gray eyes of hers lights up, and them thin lips curls into a smile, and she holds out both hands in that quick way of hers.
"Why, it's Torchy, isn't it?" says she, half laughin'.
"Uh-huh," says I, lettin' the grin spread wider. "Can't shake the name or the hair."
"Never try," says she. "Look, Aunty, here's Torchy!"
"Torchy?" says the wide old girl, inspectin' me doubtful through her lorgnette. "Why, Verona, I don't remember----"