... Really, dear, I do appreciate it. But you
mustn't--you mustn't--"
"Oh, gee! I just can't get over it--you here by me--ain't it
curious!... "Then he persisted with the tale of his longing,
which she had so carefully interrupted: "The people here are
_awful_ kind and good, and you can bank on 'em. But--oh--"
From across the room, Tom's pretended jeers, lighted up with Miss
Proudfoot's giggles, as paper lanterns illumine Coney Island.
From Tom:
"Yes, you're a hot dancer, all right. I suppose you can do the
Boston and all them swell dances. Wah-h-h-h-h!"
"--but Istra, oh, gee! you're like poetry--like all them
things a feller can't get but he tries to when he reads
Shakespeare and all those poets."
"Oh, dear boy, you mustn't! We will be good friends. I do
appreciate having some one care whether I'm alive or not.
But I thought it was all understood that we weren't to take
playing together seriously; that it was to be merely
playing--nothing more."
"But, anyway, you will let me play with you here in New York as
much as I can? Oh, come on, _let's_ go for a walk--let's--let's
go to a show.
Pages:
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386