It was just such a free attitude as this suggested by Dillard as well as these girls’ manners that had gotten him into trouble before.
“Now we’ll just have a little ice cream and cake,” suggested Dillard, after the few preliminary remarks were over, “and then we can get out of here.
You two had better go around together and hand out a few hellos.
Then we can meet at the ice cream booth. After that, if you say so, we’ll leave, eh?
What do you say?”
He looked at Zella Shuman as much as to say:
“You know what is the best thing to do,” and she smiled and replied:
“That’s right. We can’t leave right away.
I see my cousin Mary over there. And Mother. And Fred Bruckner.
Rita and I’ll just go around by ourselves for a while and then we’ll meet you, see.”
And Rita Dickerman forthwith bestowed upon Clyde an intimate and possessive smile.
After about twenty minutes of drifting and browsing, Dillard received some signal from Zella, and he and Clyde paused near the ice cream booth with its chairs in the center of the room.
In a few moments they were casually joined by Zella and Rita, with whom they had some ice cream and cake.
And then, being free of all obligations and as some of the others were beginning to depart, Dillard observed:
“Let’s beat it.
We can go over to your place, can’t we?”
“Sure, sure,” whispered Zella, and together they made their way to the coat room.
Clyde was still so dubious as to the wisdom of all this that he was inclined to be a little silent.
He did not know whether he was fascinated by Rita or not.
But once out in the street out of view of the church and the homing amusement seekers, he and Rita found themselves together, Zella and Dillard having walked on ahead.
And although Clyde had taken her arm, as he thought fit, she maneuvered it free and laid a warm and caressing hand on his elbow.
And she nudged quite close to him, shoulder to shoulder, and half leaning on him, began pattering of the life of Lycurgus.
There was something very furry and caressing about her voice now.
Clyde liked it.
There was something heavy and languorous about her body, a kind of ray or electron that intrigued and lured him in spite of himself.
He felt that he would like to caress her arm and might if he wished — that he might even put his arm around her waist, and so soon.
Yet here he was, a Griffiths, he was shrewd enough to think — a Lycurgus Griffiths — and that was what now made a difference — that made all those girls at this church social seem so much more interested in him and so friendly.
Yet in spite of this thought, he did squeeze her arm ever so slightly and without reproach or comment from her.
And once in the Shuman home, which was a large old-fashioned square frame house with a square cupola, very retired among some trees and a lawn, they made themselves at home in a general living room which was much more handsomely furnished than any home with which Clyde had been identified heretofore.
Dillard at once began sorting the records, with which he seemed most familiar, and to pull two rather large rugs out of the way, revealing a smooth, hardwood floor.
“There’s one thing about this house and these trees and these soft- toned needles,” he commented for Clyde’s benefit, of course, since he was still under the impression that Clyde might be and probably was a very shrewd person who was watching his every move here.
“You can’t hear a note of this Victrola out in the street, can you, Zell?
Nor upstairs, either, really, not with the soft needles.
We’ve played it down here and danced to it several times, until three and four in the morning and they didn’t even know it upstairs, did they, Zell?”
“That’s right.
But then Father’s a little hard of hearing.
And Mother don’t hear anything, either, when she gets in her room and gets to reading.
But it is hard to hear at that.”
“Why do people object so to dancing here?” asked Clyde.
“Oh, they don’t — not the factory people — not at all,” put in Dillard, “but most of the church people do.
My uncle and aunt do.
And nearly everyone else we met at the church to-night, except Zell and Rita.”
He gave them a most approving and encouraging glance.
“And they’re too broadminded to let a little thing like that bother them.
Ain’t that right, Zell?”
This young girl, who was very much fascinated by him, laughed and nodded,
“You bet, that’s right. I can’t see any harm in it.”
“Nor me, either,” put in Rita, “nor my father and mother.
Only they don’t like to say anything about it or make me feel that they want me to do too much of it.”
Dillard by then had started a piece entitled