one, and that maybe at first he could not expect her to
center her attentions on him, but who knew—who could tell?
And true to her promise on the following Tuesday she met
him at the corner of 14th Street and Wyandotte, near the
Green-Davidson. And so excited and flattered and
enraptured was he that he could scarcely arrange his
jumbled thoughts and emotions in any seemly way. But to
show that he was worthy of her, he had made an almost
exotic toilet—hair pomaded, a butterfly tie, new silk muffler
and silk socks to emphasize his bright brown shoes,
purchased especially for the occasion.
But once he had reëncountered Hortense, whether all this
was of any import to her he could not tell. For, after all, it
was her own appearance, not his, that interested her. And
what was more—a trick with her—she chose to keep him
waiting until nearly seven o’clock, a delay which brought
about in him the deepest dejection of spirit for the time
being. For supposing, after all, in the interval, she had
decided that she did not care for him and did not wish to
see him any more. Well, then he would have to do without
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her, of course. But that would prove that he was not
interesting to a girl as pretty as she was, despite all the nice
clothes he was now able to wear and the money he could
spend. He was determined that, girl or no girl, he would not
have one who was not pretty. Ratterer and Hegglund did
not seem to mind whether the girl they knew was attractive
or not, but with him it was a passion. The thought of being
content with one not so attractive almost nauseated him.
And yet here he was now, on the street corner in the dark—
the flare of many signs and lights about, hundreds of
pedestrians hurrying hither and thither, the thought of
pleasurable intentions and engagements written upon the
faces of many—and he, he alone, might have to turn and
go somewhere else—eat alone, go to a theater alone, go
home alone, and then to work again in the morning. He had
just about concluded that he was a failure when out of the
crowd, a little distance away, emerged the face and figure
of Hortense. She was smartly dressed in a black velvet
jacket with a reddish-brown collar and cuffs, and a bulgy,
round tam of the same material with a red leather buckle on
the side. And her cheeks and lips were rouged a little. And
her eyes sparkled. And as usual she gave herself all the
airs of one very well content with herself.
“Oh, hello, I’m late, ain’t I? I couldn’t help it. You see, I
forgot I had another appointment with a fella, a friend of
mine—gee, a peach of a boy, too, and it was only at six I
remembered that I had the two dates. Well, I was in a mess
then. 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
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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.”
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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.”
Clyde watched the play of her mouth and the brightness of
her eyes and the swiftness of her gestures without thinking
so much of what she said—very little.
“Wallace Trone was along with us—gee, he’s a scream of a
kid—and afterwards when we was sittin’ down to eat ice
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cream, he went out in the kitchen and blacked up an’ put on
a waiter’s apron and coat and then comes back and serves
us. That’s one funny boy. An’ he did all sorts of funny stuff
with the dishes and spoons.” Clyde sighed because he was
by no means as gifted as the gifted Trone.
“An’ then, Monday morning, when we all got back it was
nearly four, and I had to get up again at seven. I was all in. I
coulda chucked my job, and I woulda, only for the nice
people down at the store and Mr. Beck. He’s the head of
my department, you know, and say, how I do plague that
poor man. I sure am hard on that store. One day I comes in
late after lunch; one of the other girls punched the clock for
me with my key, see, and he was out in the hall and he saw
her, and he says to me afterwards, about two in the
afternoon, ‘Say look here, Miss Briggs’ (he always calls me
Miss Briggs, ‘cause I won’t let him call me nothing else.
He’d try to get fresh if I did), ‘that loanin’ that key stuff don’t
go. Cut that stuff out now. This ain’t no Follies.’ I had to
laugh. He does get so sore at times at all of us. But I put
him in his place just the same. He’s kinda soft on me, you
know—he wouldn’t fire me for worlds, not him. So I says to