The House of Torchy
"I know!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "I'll begin with a portrait of you. Let me try sketching in your head now."
That's the way Vee generally goes at things--with a rush. Say, she had me sittin' with my chin up and my arms draped in one position until I had a neck-ache that ran clear to my heels.
"Hal-lup!" says I, when both feet was sound asleep and my spine felt ossified. "Couldn't I put on a sub while I drew a long breath?"
At that she lets me off, and after a fifth-innin' stretch I'm called round to pass on the result.
"Hm-m-m!" says I, starin' at what she's done to a perfectly good piece of stretched canvas.
"Well, what does it look like?" demands Vee.
"Why," says I, "I should call it sort of a cross between the Kaiser and Billy Sunday."
"Torchy!" says Vee. "I--I think you're just horrid!"
For a whole week she sticks to it industrious, jottin' down stu