Part 31 (2/2)

”Looks like we was bein' inspected from the box seats,” says I.

”How flatterin'!” says she. ”Where?”

I points him out. ”Must be you,” says I, grinnin'.

”I hope so,” says Zen.o.bia. ”If I'm really being flirted with, I shall boast of it to Sister Martha.”

But just then the lights go out and the second act begins. We got so busy followin' the nutty scheme of this conversation expert who plots to pa.s.s off a flower-girl for a d.u.c.h.ess that the next wait is well under way before I remembers the gent in the box.

”Say, he's at it again,” says I. ”You must be makin' a hit for fair.”

”Precisely what I've always hoped might happen,--to be stared at in public,” says Zen.o.bia. ”I'm greatly obliged to him, I'm sure. You are quite certain, though, that it isn't someone just behind me?”

I whispers that there's no one behind her but a fat woman munchin'

chocolates and rubberin' back to see if Hubby ain't through gettin' his drink.

”There! He's takin' his gla.s.ses down,” says I. ”Know the party, do you?”

”Not at this distance,” says Zen.o.bia. ”No, I shall insist that he is an unknown admirer.”

By that time, though, I'd got a better view myself. And--say, hadn't I seen them ruddy cheeks and that gray hair and them droopy eyes before?

Why, sure! It's what's-his-name, the old guy who blew into the Corrugated awhile ago, my absentee boss--Ballard!

Maybe I'd have told Zen.o.bia all about him if there'd been time; but there wa'n't. Another flash of the lights, and we was watchin' the last act, where this gutter-bred Pygmalion sprouts a soul. And when it's all over of course we're swept out with the ebb tide, make a scramble for our taxi, and are off for home. Then as we gets to the door I has the sudden hunch about eats.

”There's a joint around on Sixth-ave.,” says I, lettin' Aunt Zen.o.bia in, ”where they sell hot dog sandwiches with sauerkraut trimmin's. I believe I could just do with one about now.”

”What an atrocious suggestion at this hour of the night!” says she.

”Torchy, don't you dare bring one of those abominations into the house--unless you have enough to divide with me. About four, I should say.”

”With mustard?” says I.

”Heaps!” says she.

Three minutes later I'm hurryin' back with both hands full, when I notices another taxi standin' out front. Then who should step out but this Ballard party, in a silk hat and a swell fur-lined overcoat.

”Young man,” says he, ”haven't I seen you somewhere before?”

”Uh-huh,” says I. ”I'm your private sec.”

”Wha-a-at?” says he. ”My--oh, yes! I remember. I saw you at the Corrugated.”

”And then again at the show to-night,” says I.

”To be sure,” says he. ”With a lady, eh?”

I nods.

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