"I'd 'a' done it long ago, if Bob had let me see you.
But he was too foxy. He ought to be ashamed of himself, standing
in the way of your getting on, just out of jealousy. Sing or
dance--or both?"
"I can sing a little, I think," said Susan.
"Now, that's modest. Ever worn tights?"
Susan shook her head, a piteous look in her violet-gray eyes.
"Oh, you'll soon get used to that. And mighty well you'll look
in 'em, I'll bet, eh? Where did Bob get you? And when?" Before
she could answer, he went on, "Let's see, I've got a date for
this evening, but I'll put it off. And she's a peach, too. So
you see what a hit you've made with me. We'll have a nice little
dinner at the Hotel du Rhine and talk things over."
"Couldn't I go to work right away?" asked the girl.
"Sure. I'll have you put on at Schaumer's tomorrow night----" He
looked shrewdly, laughingly, at her, with contracted eyelids.
"_If_ everything goes well. Before I do anything for you, I have
to see what you can do for me." And he nodded and smacked his
lips. "Oh, we'll have a lovely little dinner!" He looked
expectantly at her. "You certainly are a queen! What a dainty
little hand!" He reached out one of his hands--puffy as if it
had been poisoned, very white, with stubby fingers. Susan
reluctantly yielded her hand to his close, mushy embrace. "No
rings. That's a shame, petty----" He was talking as if to a
baby.
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