The waiter brought the cocktails and her stout young companion
came back, beaming at the thought of the dinner he had
painstakingly ordered. As he reached the table he jerked his
head in self-approval. "It'll be a good one," said he.
"Saturday night dinner--and after--means a lot to me. I work
hard all week. Saturday nights I cut loose. Sundays I sleep
and get ready to scramble again on Monday for the dollars." He
seated himself, leaned toward her with elevated glass. "What
name?" inquired he.
"Susan."
"That's a good old-fashioned name. Makes me see the
hollyhocks, and the hens scratching for worms. Mine's Howland.
Billy Howland. I came from Maryland . . . and I'm mighty
glad I did. I wouldn't be from anywhere else for worlds, and
I wouldn't be there for worlds. Where do you hail from?"
"The West," said Susan.
"Well, the men in your particular corner out yonder must be a
pretty poor lot to have let you leave. I spotted you for mine
the minute I saw you--Susan. I hope you're not as quiet as
your name. Another cocktail?"
"Thanks."
"Like to drink?"
"I'm going to do more of it hereafter."
"Been laying low for a while--eh?"
"Very low," said Susan. Her eyes were sparkling now; the
cocktail had begun to stir her long languid blood.
"Live with your family?"
"I haven't any. I'm free."
"On the stage?"
"I'm thinking of going on."
"And meanwhile?"
"Meanwhile--whatever comes.
Pages:
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689