Part 41 (1/2)

He winks roguish over his shoulder as he waddles out, leavin' Mr.

Robert starin' puzzled over the top of the desk, and me with my mouth open.

And the next thing I know I'm gettin' the inventory look-over from them keen eyes of Mr. Robert's. ”You heard, I suppose?” says he.

”Uh-huh,” says I, sort of husky.

”And I presume you understand just what that means?” he goes on. ”I am expected to call and explain about those roses.”

”Well?” says I. ”Why not stand pat? Sendin' flowers to a young lady ain't any penal offense, is it?”

”As a simple statement of an abstract proposition,” says Mr. Robert, ”that is quite correct; but in this instance the situation is somewhat more complicated. As a matter of fact, I find myself in a deucedly awkward position.”

”That's easy,” says I. ”Lay it to me, then.”

Mr. Robert shakes his head. ”I've considered that,” says he; ”but sometimes the bald truth sounds singularly unconvincing. I'm sure it would in this case. If the young lady was familiar with all the buoyant audacity of your irrepressible nature, perhaps it would be different.

No, young man, I fear I must ask you to do your own explaining.”

”Me?” says I, gawpin'.

”We will call on Miss Hampton about four-thirty,” says he.

And say, Mr. Robert has stacked me up against some batty excursions before now; but this billin' me for orator of the day when he goes to look up an old girl of his is about the fruitiest performance he'd ever sprung.

I don't know when I've ever seen him with a worse case of the fidgets, either. Why, you'd 'most think he was due to answer a charge of breakin'

and enterin', or something like that! And you know he's some nervy sport, Mr. Robert--all except when it's a matter of skirts. Then he's more or less of a skittish party, believe me!

But at four-thirty we went. It wa'n't any joy ride we had, either. All the way up Mr. Robert sits there fillin' the limousine with gloom thick enough to slice. I tried chirkin' him up with a few frivolous side remarks; but they don't take, and I sighs relieved when we're landed at the apartment hotel where Miss Hampton lives.

”Say,” I suggests, ”you ain't goin' to lead me in by the ear, are you?”

”I'm not sure but that would be an appropriate entrance,” says he.

”However, it might appear a trifle theatrical.”

”What's the programme, anyway?” says I, as we boards the elevator. ”Do you open for the defense, or do I?”

”Hanged if I know!” he almost groans out. ”I wish I did.”

”Then let's stick around outside in the corridor here,” says I, ”until we frame up something. Now how would it do if----”

”You're to explain, that's all!” says he, steppin' up and pus.h.i.+n' the b.u.t.ton.

It's a wonder too, from the panicky way he's actin', he don't shove me ahead of him for a buffer as we goes in. But he has just enough courage left to let me trail along behind.

So it's him gets the cordial greetin' from the vision in blue net that floats out easy and graceful from the window nook.

I couldn't see why it wa'n't goin' to be just as awkward for her, meetin' him again so long after their grand smash, or whatever it was; but, take it from me, there ain't any fussed motions about Miss Hampton at all. Them big china blue eyes of hers is steady and calm, her perky chin is carried well up, and in one corner of her mouth she's displayin'

that quirky smile he'd described to me.