Part 39 (1/2)

”Did you say anything?” I goes on.

”No,” says she. If she'd smiled sort of faint, or even glared stern at us, it wouldn't have been so bad. But she just presses her lips together--thin, narrow-gage lips, they was--and goes on givin' us that distant, unconcerned look.

Meanwhile Swifty, with his face bent towards the floor, ain't gettin'

any view at all, and is only guessin' what's happenin'. He squirms impatient.

”Say, Shorty,” he grumbles, ”I got a few bones in me neck, remember.

Break, can't you?”

And as I loosens my hold he straightens up, only to get the full benefit of that placid, ladylike lookover.

”Ahr-r-r chee!” says he, glancin' disgusted at me. Then he starts gettin' rosy in the ears, like he always does when there's fluffs around, and after one more hasty look he bolts back into the gym.

The strange lady watches this move like she has everything else, only she shrugs her shoulders a bit. What she meant by that I couldn't make out. I was gettin' to the point where I didn't care so much, either.

”Well, Ma'am?” says I.

”Poor fellow!” says she. ”I am glad he escaped that brutal blow.”

”Are you?” says I. ”Well, don't waste too much sympathy on him; for I was only demonstratin' how----”

”You might offer me a chair,” she breaks in sort of casual.

”Why--er--sure!” says I, and before I knew it I was jumpin' to drag one up.

She settles into it without even a nod of thanks.

”You see,” I goes on, ”he's my a.s.sistant, and I was tryin' to show him how----”

”It's rather stuffy here,” observes the lady. ”Couldn't you open a window?”

It's more an order than anything else; but I hops over and shoves the sash wide open.

”That's too much,” says she. ”It causes a draft.”

So I shuts it halfway. Then I gets her a gla.s.s of water. ”Anything else you'd like?” says I, tryin' to be sarcastic. ”The mornin' paper, or----”

”Where is Mr. Steele?” she demands.

”Oh!” says I, gettin' a little light on the mystery. ”J. Bayard, you mean?”

”Of course,” says she. ”He was not at his hotel, and as this was the other address I was given I expected to find him here.”

”Huh!” says I. ”Gave you this number, did he? Well, you see, this is my Physical Culture Studio, and while he's apt to be here off and on, it ain't his----”

”Just such a place as I might have antic.i.p.ated finding Bayard in,” says she, glancin' around the front office at the portraits in ring costume and so on. ”Quite!”

”Let's see,” says I, ”you are--er----”

”I am Mrs. Lee Hollister,” says she, ”of Richmond, Virginyah.”