And very soon, because of several cordial invitations which were extended to him by Ratterer, he found himself part and parcel of this group — a group which from one point of view — the ideas held by its members, the rather wretched English they spoke — he looked down upon. From another point of view — the freedom they possessed, the zest with which they managed to contrive social activities and exchanges — he was drawn to them.
Because, for the first time, these permitted him, if he chose, to have a girl of his own, if only he could summon the courage.
And this, owing to the well- meant ministrations of Ratterer and his sister and their friends, he soon sought to accomplish. Indeed the thing began on the occasion of his first visit to the Ratterers.
Louise Ratterer worked in a dry-goods store and often came home a little late for dinner.
On this occasion she did not appear until seven, and the eating of the family meal was postponed accordingly.
In the meantime, two girl friends of Louise arrived to consult her in connection with something, and finding her delayed, and Ratterer and Clyde there, they made themselves at home, rather impressed and interested by Clyde and his new finery.
For he, at once girl- hungry and girl-shy, held himself nervously aloof, a manifestation which they mistook for a conviction of superiority on his part.
And in consequence, arrested by this, they determined to show how really interesting they were — vamp him — no less.
And he found their crude briskness and effrontery very appealing — so much so that he was soon taken by the charms of one, a certain Hortense Briggs, who, like Louise, was nothing more than a crude shop girl in one of the large stores, but pretty and dark and self- appreciative.
And yet from the first, he realized that she was not a little coarse and vulgar — a very long way removed from the type of girl he had been imagining in his dreams that he would like to have.
“Oh, hasn’t she come in yet?” announced Hortense, on first being admitted by Ratterer and seeing Clyde near one of the front windows, looking out.
“Isn’t that too bad?
Well, we’ll just have to wait a little bit if you don’t mind”— this last with a switch and a swagger that plainly said, who would mind having us around?
And forthwith she began to primp and admire herself before a mirror which surmounted an ocher-colored mantelpiece that graced a fireless grate in the dining-room.
And her friend, Greta Miller, added:
“Oh, dear, yes.
I hope you won’t make us go before she comes.
We didn’t come to eat.
We thought your dinner would be all over by now.”
“Where do you get that stuff —‘put you out’?” replied Ratterer cynically.
“As though anybody could drive you two outa here if you didn’t want to go.
Sit down and play the victrola or do anything you like.
Dinner’ll soon be ready and Louise’ll be here any minute.”
He returned to the dining-room to look at a paper which he had been reading, after pausing to introduce Clyde.
And the latter, because of the looks and the airs of these two, felt suddenly as though he had been cast adrift upon a chartless sea in an open boat.
“Oh, don’t say eat to me!” exclaimed Greta Miller, who was surveying Clyde calmly as though she were debating with herself whether he was worth-while game or not, and deciding that he was: “With all the ice-cream and cake and pie and sandwiches we’ll have to eat yet to-night.
We was just going to warn Louise not to fill up too much.
Kittie Keane’s givin’ a birthday party, you know, Tom, and she’ll have a big cake an’ everythin’.
You’re comin’ down, ain’t you, afterwards?” she concluded, with a thought of Clyde and his possible companionship in mind.
“I wasn’t thinkin’ of it,” calmly observed Ratterer.
“Me and Clyde was thinkin’ of goin’ to a show after dinner.”
“Oh, how foolish,” put in Hortense Briggs, more to attract attention to herself and take it away from Greta than anything else.
She was still in front of the mirror, but turned now to cast a fetching smile on all, particularly Clyde, for whom she fancied her friend might be angling,
“When you could come along and dance. I call that silly.”
“Sure, dancing is all you three ever think of — you and Louise,” retorted Ratterer.
“It’s a wonder you don’t give yourselves a rest once in a while.
I’m on my feet all day an’ I like to sit down once in a while.” He could be most matter-of-fact at times.
“Oh, don’t say sit down to me,” commented Greta Miller with a lofty smile and a gliding, dancing motion of her left foot, “with all the dates we got ahead of us this week.
Oh, gee!”
Her eyes and eyebrows went up and she clasped her hands dramatically before her.
“It’s just terrible, all the dancin’ we gotta do yet, this winter, don’t we, Hortense?
Thursday night and Friday night and Saturday and Sunday nights.” She counted on her fingers most archly.
“Oh, gee!
It is terrible, really.”
She gave Clyde an appealing, sympathy-seeking smile.
“Guess where we were the other night, Tom. Louise and Ralph Thorpe and Hortense and Bert Gettler, me and Willie Bassick — out at Pegrain’s on Webster Avenue.
Oh, an’ you oughta seen the crowd out there.
Sam Shaffer and Tillie Burns was there.
And we danced until four in the morning.
I thought my knees would break.