the furniture man (you furnish the girl, we furnish the house). They were both Baptists.
Mrs. Thelma Jarvis turned her warm ivory stare upon them, parted her full small mouth in a remote smile, and passed, ambulant. When she had gone they turned to each other, grinning quietly. We’ll be waiting at the river. Swiftly they glanced about them. No one had seen.
Patroness of all the arts, but particular sponsor for Music, Heavenly Maid, Mrs. Franz Wilhelm Von Zeck, wife of the noted lung specialist, and the discoverer of Von Zeck’s serum, came imperially from the doors of the Fashion Mart, and was handed tenderly into the receiving cushions of her Cadillac by Mr. Louis Rosalsky. Benevolently but distantly she smiled down upon him: the white parchment of his hard Polish face was broken by a grin of cruel servility curving up around the wings of his immense putty-colored nose. Frau Von Zeck settled her powerful chins upon the coarse shelving of her Wagnerian breasts and, her ponderous gaze already dreaming on remote philanthropies, was charioted smoothly away from the devoted tradesman. Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt, weiss was Ich leide.
Mr. Rosalsky returned into his store.
For the third time the Misses Mildred Shuford, Helen Pendergast, and Mary Catherine Bruce drove by, clustered together like unpicked cherries in the front seat of Miss Shuford’s Reo. They passed, searching the pavements with eager, haughty eyes, pleased at their proud appearance. They turned up Liberty Street on their fourth swing round the circle. Waltz me around again, Willie.
“Do you know how to dance, George?” Eugene asked. His heart was full of bitter pride and fear.
“Yes,” said George Graves absently, “a little bit. I don’t like it.” He lifted his brooding eyes.
“Say,’Gene,” he said, “how much do you think Dr. Von Zeck is worth?”
He answered Eugene’s laughter with a puzzled sheepish grin.
“Come on,” said Eugene. “I’ll match you for a drink.”
They dodged nimbly across the narrow street, amid the thickening afternoon traffic.
