He murmured drowsily, and stirred. The little waitress smiled and sat down on the bed. She bent over him and tickled him gently in the ribs, chuckling to see him squirm. Then she tickled the soles of his feet. He wakened slowly, yawning, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“What is it?” he said.
“It’s time to go out there,” she said.
“Out where?”
“To the Navy Yard. We promised to meet them.”
“Oh, damn the Navy Yard!” he groaned. “I’d rather sleep.”
“So would I!” she agreed. She yawned luxuriously, stretching her plump arms above her head. “I’m so sleepy. I could stretch out anywhere.” She looked meaningly at the bed.
He wakened at once, sensuously alert. He lifted himself upon one elbow: a hot torrent of blood swarmed through his cheeks. His pulses beat thickly.
“We’re all alone up here,” said Louise smiling. “We’ve got the whole floor to ourselves.”
“Why don’t you lie down and take a nap, if you’re still sleepy?” he asked. “I’ll wake you up,” he added, with gentle chivalry.
“I’ve got such a little room. It’s hot and stuffy. That’s why I got up,” said Louise. “What a nice big room you’ve got!”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s a nice big bed, too.” They were silent a waiting moment.
“Why don’t you lie down here, Louise?” he said, in a low unsteady voice. “I’ll get up,” he added hastily, sitting up. “I’ll wake you.”
“Oh, no,” she said, “I wouldn’t feel right.”
They were again silent. She looked admiringly at his thin young arms.
“My!” she said. “I bet you’re strong.”
He flexed his long stringy muscles manfully, and expanded his chest.
“My!” she said. “How old are you,’Gene?”
He was just at his fifteenth year.
“I’m going on sixteen,” he said. “How old are you, Louise?”
“I’m eighteen,” she said. “I bet you’re a regular heart-breaker,’Gene. How many girls have you got?”
“Oh—I don’t know. Not many,” he said truthfully enough. He
