Part 33 (2/2)

”My, yes. Papers were full of it. Old Oakley gave her a big dance, and all, at the Country Club. They say--”

A week later, his arm about Wanda's big, yielding waist, he was dancing at Woodman's Hall. There was about her a cheap, heavy scent. She had on a georgette blouse and high-heeled shoes. She clung to Chug and smiled up at him. Wanda had bad teeth--yellow, with a sort of sc.u.m over them.

”I sure was lonesome for you, Chug. You're some dancer, I'll say.

Honest, I could dance with you all night.” A little pressure of her arm.

Somewhere in the recesses of his brain a memory cell broke. Dimly he heard himself saying, ”Oh, they all tell me that.”

”Crazy about yourself, ain't you!”

”Not as crazy as I am about you,” with tardy gallantry.

Then, suddenly, Chug stopped dancing. He stopped, and stepped back from Wanda's arms. Bergstrom's two-piece orchestra was in the throes of its jazziest fox-trot number. Chug stood there a moment, in the centre of the floor, staring at Wanda's face that was staring back at him in vacuous surprise. He turned, without a word, and crossed the crowded floor, b.u.mping couples blindly as he went. And so down the rickety wooden stairs, into the street, and out into the decent darkness of Chippewa's night.

THE END

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