She soon finished, however, and drawing near, and keeping one eye on her floor-walker who resented callers, exclaimed:
“I was just thinking about you.
You wasn’t thinking about me, was you?
Trade last.”
Then she added, sotto voce, “Don’t act like you are talking to me. I see our floorwalker over there.”
Arrested by the unusual sweetness in her voice, to say nothing of the warm smile with which she greeted him, Clyde was enlivened and heartened at once.
“Was I thinking of you?” he returned gayly.
“Do I ever think of any one else? Say!
Ratterer says I’ve got you on the brain.”
“Oh, him,” replied Hortense, pouting spitefully and scornfully, for Ratterer, strangely enough, was one whom she did not interest very much, and this she knew.
“He thinks he’s so smart,” she added.
“I know a lotta girls don’t like him.”
“Oh, Tom’s all right,” pleaded Clyde, loyally.
“That’s just his way of talking.
He likes you.”
“Oh, no, he don’t, either,” replied Hortense.
“But I don’t want to talk about him.
Whatcha doin’ around six o’clock to-night?”
“Oh, gee!” exclaimed Clyde disappointedly.
“You don’t mean to say you got to-night free, have you?
Well, ain’t that tough?
I thought you were all dated up.
I got to work!”
He actually sighed, so depressed was he by the thought that she might be willing to spend the evening with him and he not able to avail himself of the opportunity, while Hortense, noting his intense disappointment, was pleased.
“Well, I gotta date, but I don’t want to keep it,” she went on with a contemptuous gathering of the lips.
“I don’t have to break it. I would though if you was free.”
Clyde’s heart began to beat rapidly with delight.
“Gee, I wish I didn’t have to work now,” he went on, looking at her.
“You’re sure you couldn’t make it to-morrow night?
I’m off then.
And I was just coming up here to ask you if you didn’t want to go for an automobile ride next Sunday afternoon, maybe.
A friend of Hegglund’s got a car — a Packard — and Sunday we’re all off.
And he wanted me to get a bunch to run out to Excelsior Springs.
He’s a nice fellow” (this because Hortense showed signs of not being so very much interested).
“You don’t know him very well, but he is.
But say, I can talk to you about that later.
How about to-morrow night?
I’m off then.”
Hortense, who, because of the hovering floor-walker, was pretending to show Clyde some handkerchiefs, was now thinking how unfortunate that a whole twenty-four hours must intervene before she could bring him to view the coat with her — and so have an opportunity to begin her machinations.
At the same time she pretended that the proposed meeting for the next night was a very difficult thing to bring about — more difficult than he could possibly appreciate.
She even pretended to be somewhat uncertain as to whether she wanted to do it.
“Just pretend you’re examining these handkerchiefs here,” she continued, fearing the floor-walker might interrupt.
“I gotta nother date for then,” she continued thoughtfully, “and I don’t know whether I can break it or not.
Let me see.”
She feigned deep thought.
“Well, I guess I can,” she said finally.
“I’ll try, anyhow. Just for this once.
You be here at Fifteenth and Main at 6.15 — no, 6.30’s the best you can do, ain’t it? — and I’ll see if I can’t get there.
I won’t promise, but I’ll see and I think I can make it.
Is that all right?”