So I had to do something about one of you.
I was just about to call you up and make a date for another night, only I remembered you wouldn’t be at your place after six.
Tom never is.
And Charlie always is in his place till six-thirty, anyhow, sometimes later, and he’s a peach of a fella that way — never grouchy or nothing.
And he was goin’ to take me to the theater and to dinner, too.
He has charge of the cigar stand over here at the Orphia.
So I called him up.
Well, he didn’t like it so very much.
But I told him I’d make it another night.
Now, aintcha glad?
Dontcha think I’m pretty nice to you, disappointin’ a good-lookin’ fella like Charlie for you?”
She had caught a glimpse of the disturbed and jealous and yet fearsome look in Clyde’s eyes as she talked of another.
And the thought of making him jealous was a delight to her.
She realized that he was very much smitten with her.
So she tossed her head and smiled, falling into step with him as he moved up the street.
“You bet it was nice of you to come,” he forced himself to say, even though the reference to Charlie as a “peach of a fella” seemed to affect his throat and his heart at the same time.
What chance had he to hold a girl who was so pretty and self-willed?
“Gee, you look swell to-night,” he went on, forcing himself to talk and surprising himself a little with his ability to do so.
“I like the way that hat looks on you, and your coat too.”
He looked directly at her, his eyes lit with admiration, an eager yearning filling them.
He would have liked to have kissed her — her pretty mouth — only he did not dare here, or anywhere as yet.
“I don’t wonder you have to turn down engagements.
You’re pretty enough.
Don’t you want some roses to wear?”
They were passing a flower store at the moment and the sight of them put the thought of the gift in his mind.
He had heard Hegglund say that women liked fellows who did things for them.
“Oh, sure, I would like some roses,” she replied, turning into the place.
“Or maybe some of those violets.
They look pretty.
They go better with this jacket, I think.”
She was pleased to think that Clyde was sporty enough to think of flowers.
Also that he was saying such nice things about her.
At the same time she was convinced that he was a boy who had had little, if anything, to do with girls.
And she preferred youths and men who were more experienced, not so easily flattered by her — not so easy to hold.
Yet she could not help thinking that Clyde was a better type of boy or man than she was accustomed to — more refined.
And for that reason, in spite of his gaucheness (in her eyes) she was inclined to tolerate him — to see how he would do.
“Well, these are pretty nifty,” she exclaimed, picking up a rather large bouquet of violets and pinning them on.
“I think I’ll wear these.”
And while Clyde paid for them, she posed before the mirror, adjusting them to her taste.
At last, being satisfied as to their effect, she turned and exclaimed,
“Well, I’m ready,” and took him by the arm.
Clyde, being not a little overawed by her spirit and mannerisms, was at a loss what else to say for the moment, but he need not have worried — her chief interest in life was herself.
“Gee, I tell you I had a swift week of it last week.
Out every night until three.
An’ Sunday until nearly morning.
My, that was some rough party I was to last night, all right.
Ever been down to Burkett’s at Gifford’s Ferry?
Oh, a nifty place, all right, right over the Big Blue at 39th.
Dancing in summer and you can skate outside when it’s frozen in winter or dance on the ice.
An’ the niftiest little orchestra.”