Part 60 (1/2)
”Gee, ain't it swell enough just the way we are--just like it is, us knocking round together? I ain't your settling-down kind, sister. You're one little winner, and I like your style o' sweetness, but I ain't what you'd call a homesteader.”
”Joe!”
”Sure; I mean it. I like you well enough to do any little thing your heart desires; but I never look far ahead, hon. I'm near-sighted.”
”What--what about me?”
”I ain't got nothing saved up--not a dime. You tell your dame--you tell her we--we just understand each other. Huh? How's that? That's fair enough, ain't it?”
”Whatta you mean, Joe? You always say that; but please, Joe, please tell me what you mean?”
”Listen, kiddo. Say, listen to that trot they're playin', will you? Come on, sis; be a sport! To-morrow night we'll talk about anything your little heart desires. Come on, one round! Don't make me sore.”
”Aw, no, Joe; I gotta go.”
”One round, sweetness--see, I'll pay the check. See, two rounds round, and we'll light out for home. Look, they're all watchin' for us--two rounds, sweetness.”
”One, you just said, Joe.”
”One, then, little mouse.”
They rose to the introductory t.i.tillation of violins; she slid into his embrace with a little fluid movement, and they slithered out on the s.h.i.+ning floor. A light murmur like the rustle of birds' wings went after them, and couples leaned from their tables to watch the perfect syncopation of their steps. His slightly crepuscular eyes took on the sheen of mica; the color ran high in her face, and her lips parted.
”They sit up and take notice when we slide out, don't they, little one?”
”Yes.”
”Some cla.s.s to my trotting, ain't there, sweetness?”
”Yeh. Look, Joe; we gotta go after this round--it's nearly twelve.”
”Twice round, sweetness, and then we go. If we ain't got the profesh beat on that Argentine Dip I'll give ten orchestra seats to charity and let any box-office in this town land me for what I'm worth.”
”Joe!”
”Aw, I was only kiddin'. They got as much chance with me as a man with Saint Vitus's dance has of landing a trout. Gee, you're pretty to-night, sweetness!”
”Sweetness yourself!”
”Peaches and Cream!”
”Come on, Joe; this is twice round.”
”Once more, sweetness--just once more! See, you got me hypnotized; my feet won't stop. See, they keep going and going. See, I can't stop.
Whoa! Whoa! Honest, I can't quit! Whoa! We gotta go round once more, sweetness. I--just--can't--stop!”
”Just once more, Joe.”
At one o'clock the gas-flame in the hallway outside the rear third-floor apartment flared sootily and waned to a weary bead as the pressure receded. Through the opacity of the sudden fog the formal-faced door faded into the gloom, and Miss Essie Birdsong pushed the k.n.o.b stealthily inch by inch to save the squeak.
”Plunk-plunk-plunka-plunka-plunk-plunk! Essie?”