"
He did not answer when Tom came and told him a new story he had
just heard in the barroom.
Once Nelly landed beside him and bubblingly insisted on his
coming out and trying to learn to dance. He brightened, but
shyly remarked, "Oh no, I don't think I'd better." Just then the
blackest-mustached and pearl-waistcoatedest of all the cigar
salesmen came begging for a dance, and she was gone, with only:
"Now get up your courage. I'm going to _make_ you dance."
At the intermission he watched her cross the floor with the
hateful cigar salesman, slender in her tight crisp new white
mull, flourishing her fan and talking with happy rapidity.
She sat down beside him. He said nothing; he still stared out
across the glassy floor. She peeped at him curiously several
times, and made a low tapping with her fan on the side of her chair.
She sighed a little. Cautiously, but very casually, she said,
"Aren't you going to take me out for some refreshments, Mr. Wrenn?"
"Oh sure--I'm good enough to buy refreshments for her!" he said
to himself.
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