Isham Frederic Stewart - Nothing But the Truth стр 3.

Wha for? said the boy, aggressive at once. Babes are born in New York with chips on their shoulders.

As a matter of trifling accommodation, that is all, answered the commodore sweetly. On the other side of you is a stately car and we would hold conversation with

Aw, gwan! Guess I got as much right to the street as it has. And as a display of his rights, he even touched up his horse a few inches, to intervene more thoroughly.

Perhaps now for half a dollar began the commodore, more insinuatingly. Then he groaned: Too late! The policeman had lifted the ban. The stately car turned into the avenue and was swallowed up amid a myriad of more or less imposing vehicles. They had, however, received a bow from the occupant. That was all there had been opportunity for. Incidentally, the small boy had bestowed upon them his parting compliments:

Smart old guy! You think youse The rest was jumbled up or lost in the usual cacophony of the thoroughfare.

Too bad! murmured the commodore. But still these three weeks are young.

Three weeks! observed Dickie. Sounds like plagiarism!

Oh, Bob wont have that kind of a three weeks, snickered Clarence.

Bobs will be an expurgated edition, from the commodore, recovering his spirits.

Maybe we ought to make it four?

Three will do, said Bob, who wasnt enjoying this chaffing. Every one they approached he now eyed apprehensively.

But he was a joy-giver, if not receiver, for his tall handsome figure attracted many admiring glances. His striking head with its blond curls they werent exactly curls, only his hair wasnt straight, but clung rather wavy-like to the bold contour of his head his careless stride, and that general effect of young masculinity all this caused sundry humble feminine hearts to go pit-a-pat. Bobs progress, however, was generally followed by pit-a-pats from shop-girls and bonnet-bearers. Especially at the noon hour! Then Bob seemed to these humble toilers, like dessert, after hard-boiled eggs, stale sandwiches and pickles.

But Bob was quite unaware of any approving glances cast after him. He was thinking, and thinking hard. He wasnt so sanguine now as he had been when he had left the club. What might have happened at that street corner appealed to him with sudden poignant force. Mrs. Ralston was of the creme de la creme. She was determined to stay young. She pretended to be thirty years or so younger than she was. In fact, she was rather a ridiculous old lady who found it hard to conceal her age. Now what if the commodore had found opportunity to ask that awful question? Bob could have made only one reply and told the truth. The largeness of his contract was becoming more apparent to him. He began to see himself now from Dans standpoint. Incidentally, he was beginning to develop a great dislike for that genial land-mariner.

How about the Waldorf? They had paused at the corner of Thirty-fourth Street. May find some one there, suggested Clarence.

In Peek-a-Boo Alley? scornfully from Dickie.

Oh, I heard there was a concert, or something upstairs, said Clarence. In that youve-got-to-be-introduced room! And some of the real people have to walk through to get to it.

Accordingly they entered the Waldorf and the commodore hustled them up and down and around, without, however, their encountering a single real person. There were only people present loads of them, not from somewhere but from everywhere. They did the circuit several times, still without catching sight of a real person.

Whew! This is a lonesome place! breathed the commodore at last.

Lets depart! disgustedly from Clarence. Apologize for steering you into these barren wastes!

Whats your hurry? said Bob, with a little more bravado. Then suddenly he forgot about those other three. His entranced gaze became focused on one. He saw only her.

Ha! The commodores quick glance, following Bobs, caught sight, too, of that wonderful face in the distance the stunning, glowing young figure that regal dream of just-budded girlhood that superb vision in a lovely afternoon gown! She was followed by one or two others. One could only imagine her leading. There would, of course, always be several at her either side and quite a number dangling behind. Her lips were like the red rosebuds that swung negligently from her hand as she floated through the crowd. Her eyes suggested veiled dreams amid the confusion and hubbub of a topsyturvy world. She was like something rhythmical precipitated amid chaos. A far-away impression of a smile played around the corners of her proud lips.

The commodore precipitated himself in her direction. Bob put out a hand as if to grasp him by the coat tails, but the other was already beyond reach and Bobs hand fell to his side. He stood passive. That was his part. Only he wasnt passive inwardly. His heart was beating wildly. He could imagine himself with her and them those others in her train and the conversation that would ensue, for he had no doubt of the commodores intentions. Dan was an adept at rounding up people. Bob could see himself at a table participating in the conversation prepared conversation, some of it! He could imagine the commodore leading little rivulets of talk into certain channels for his benefit. Dan would see to it that they would ask him (Bob) questions, embarrassing ones. That advice dad had given him weighed on Bob like a nightmare. Suppose ghastly thought!  truth compelled him ever to speak of that? And to her! A shiver ran down Bobs backbone. Nearer she drew nearer while Bob gazed as if fascinated, full of rapturous, paradoxical dread. Now the commodore was almost upon her when

Ah, what was that? An open elevator?  people going in?  She, too,  those with her Yes click! a closed door! The radiant vision had vanished, was going upward; Bob breathed again. Think of being even paradoxically glad at witnessing her disappear! Bob ceased now to think; stood as in a trance.

Why do people go to concerts? said the commodore in aggrieved tones. Some queen, that!

And got the rocks or stocks! from Dickie. Owns about three of those railroads that are going a-begging nowadays.

Wake up, Bobbie! some one now addressed that abstracted individual.

Bob shook himself.

Old friend of yours, Miss Gwendoline Gerald, I believe? said the commodore significantly.

Yes; Ive known Miss Gerald for some time, said Bob coldly.

Known for some time mimicked the commodore. Phlegmatic dog! Well, what shall we do now?

Hang around until the concerts over? suggested Dickie.

Hang around nothing! said the commodore. Its one of those classical high-jinks. Disgustedly. Lasts so late the sufferers havent time for anything after its over. Just enough energy left to stagger to their cars and fall over in a comatose condition.

Suppose we could go to the bar?

Naughty! Naughty! A sprightly voice interrupted.

The commodore wheeled. Mrs. Ralston! he exclaimed gladly.

It was the gorgeous lady of the gorgeous car.

Just finished my shopping and thought Id have a look in here, she said vivaciously.

Concert, I suppose? from the commodore, jubilantly.

Yes. Dubussy. Dont you adore Dubussy? with schoolgirlish enthusiasm. Though almost sixty, she had the manners of a just-come-out.