Part 15 (2/2)

The show closed in the midst of a fairly good run. It closed abruptly, without warning. Together they came back to New York. Just outside New York Hahn knocked at the door of Mizzi's drawing room and stuck his round, ugly face in at the opening.

”Let's surprise Wallie,” he said.

”Yes,” said Mizzi, listlessly.

”He doesn't know the show's closed. We'll take a chance on his being home for dinner. Unless you're too tired.”

”I'm not tired.”

The j.a.p admitted them, and Hahn cut off his staccato exclamations with a quick and smothering hand. They tiptoed into the big, gracious, lamp-lighted room.

Wallie was seated at the piano. He had on a silk dressing gown with a purple cord. One of those dressing gowns you see in the haberdashers'

windows, and wonder who buys them. He looked very tall in it, and rather distinguished, but not quite happy. He was playing as they came in. They said, ”Boo!” or something idiotic like that. He stood up. And his face!

”Why, h.e.l.lo!” he said, and came forward, swiftly. ”h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo!”

”h.e.l.lo!” Hahn answered; ”Not to say h.e.l.lo-h.e.l.lo.”

Wallie looked at the girl. ”h.e.l.lo, Mizzi.”

”h.e.l.lo,” said Mizzi.

”For G.o.d's sake stop saying 'h.e.l.lo!'” roared Hahn.

They both looked at him absently, and then at each other again.

Hahn flung his coat and hat at the j.a.p and rubbed his palms briskly together. ”Well, how did you like it?” he said, and slapped Wallie on the back. ”How'd you like it--the place I mean, and the j.a.p boy and all?

H'm?”

”Very much,” Wallie answered, formally. ”Very nice.”

”You'll be having one of your own some day, soon. That's sure.”

”I suppose so,” said Wallie, indifferently.

”I would like to go home,” said Mizzi, suddenly, in her precise English.

At that Wallie leaped out of his lounging coat. ”I'll take you!

I'll--I'll be glad to take you.”

Hahn smiled a little, ruefully. ”We were going to have dinner here, the three of us. But if you're tired, Mizzi. I'm not so chipper myself when it comes to that.” He looked about the room, gratefully. ”It's good to be home.”

Wallie, hat in hand, was waiting in the doorway, Mizzi, turning to go, suddenly felt two hands on her shoulders. She was whirled around.

Hahn--he had to stand on tiptoe to do it--kissed her once on the mouth, hard. Then he gave her a little shove toward the door. ”Tell Wallie about the red carpet,” he said.

”I will not,” Mizzi replied, very distinctly. ”I hate red carpets.”

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