All Story Magazine, December 1913 — page 76: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

786 THE ‘You betcha, an’ the only difference *tween your sort an’ my sort is that we ain't got so far to drop. Naw ’— referring to the waiter’s appearance— “T ain’t drinking nothin’. I been on the wagon since I quit the milk. “Can't you trot none? I’m a regu- lar feather-weight when I’m dancing, an’ I won’t put your shine on the blink. Say, Della, strike up—give us the ‘Robert E. Lee,’ will you? ” The music ceased instantly, amid a chorus of divided opinion. I did not turn my head, and kept my eyes fixed upon the door. There was a great deal of chatter and chaff, of which Rosie bore the brunt, using her powers of repartee as an expert fencer wields his foil. Then a new ragtime piece set the “ floor” in motion again. Miss Paler looked toward me. With a glance at the door and an- other at the already crowded floor space, I protested feebly. ‘There isn’t any room for us.”’ “There ain’t—eh? ” Rosie rose, and her voice rose higher still, “ Beat it, the bunch of you. Me an’ Blondy’s goin’ to show you how they trot in high societee.” It cleared the floor like magic. TI looked about me in search of relief, but there was none. <A storm of ap- proval burst upon me from all sides. Della turned her head, stared blankly at ime for a moment or two—and nodded. No one else would have thought it was intended for me. Jimmy also smiled encouragement, and Paler, fix- ing his single eye upon me, said, with a grin: “ Bea sport. She don’t weigh more’n a ton.” : “Tl paste you!” Rosie declared wrathfully amid a roar of laughter. “Never mind him,’ IT said, and, rising, offered my arm. ‘ May I have the pleasure of dancing this number with you?” “ You sure may.” ALL-STORY MAGAZINE. She grabbed my arm as if she were afraid I might retract, and, to an ac- companiment of cheers, catcalls, much stamping of feet, and the piano, I was dragged into the intricacies of the turkey-trot. The floor was bad, but Miss Paler had not lied about her weight when dancing, and Della’s time, when we caught it above the tumult, was perfect. We paid no attention to the remarks of the bystanders, witty and coarse, that came from all sides, Rosie’s tongue seeming to have lost all desire for revenge, while her eyes became ac- tually dreamy. Mine sped to the door every time I faced it. No one else looked that way. ‘The attention of the entire company was fixed upon us. . “Gee! You're a swell dancer!” my partner murmured ecstatically after a while, and her fingers gripped my shoulder like a vise. “TI ain't such a elephant, am I?” “ Of course not. tifully.” She smiled, and her eyes softened; but two red eyes, blinking in a little black box near the door, took my atten- tion away from her and told me that my time had come. We waltzed nearer and nearer to the piano and my exit, till we were within a few feet of it. The signal-light winked again twice. Jimmy’s forefingers went into his mouth, and a shrill whistle was the result. The lights went out. Even the bar shared the eclipse. Women screamed, glasses went crashing to the floor, and something like a stampede ensued. Rosie flung her arins about me. But that was not an embrace of fear. Just as a small hand came out of the murk, gripped my sleeve and tugged, Rosie, to my complete surprise, whis- pered softly: “You're all right, Blondy. 101" You dance beau- Beat comnlicloooks.com