Just Around the Corner: Romance en casserole
"I don't see no medals on you fer bein' the end man of the minstrel
show. Don't let a boat trip to Coney go to your head; you might get
brain-fever."
Gertrude Sprunt cast her eyes ceilingward.
"Well, one good thing, your brain will never cause you any trouble,
Ethyl."
"Lord, Gert, cut out the airs! You ain't livin' in the rose suite on the
tenth floor; you're only applyin' nail-polishes and cuticle-lotions down
here in the basement."
"There's something else I'm doing, too," retorted Miss Gertrude, with
unruffled amiability. "I'm minding my own affairs."
They fell to work again after these happy sallies, and it was late
afternoon before there came a welcome lull.
"Who's your last, Gert?"
"Mr. Chase." There were two red spots of excitement burning on Miss
Sprunt's cheeks, and her eyes showed more black than blue.
"Not that little guy with the Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep face? Take it
from me, he's a bank clerk or a library guy. Thank Heaven, I ain't got
no cheap skates on my staff!"
Miss Gertrude flushed up to her eyes.
"He may be a clerk, but--"
Mr. Chase entered quietly. There was a gentle, even shrinking smile upon
his features, and he carried a small offering covered with purple
tissue-paper, which he placed nervously upon the edge of the table.
"Good afternoon, Miss Sprunt." He pushed the greeting toward her. "May I
hope that you will accept these?"
"Oh, Mr. Chase, aren't you good?" The very quality of her voice was
suddenly different, like the softening of a violin note when you mute
the strings.
He drew his chair up to the table with the quiet satisfaction of a man
ready for a well-merited meal.
"You and violets are inseparable in my mind, Miss Sprunt, because you
both suggest the spring."
She laughed in low, rich tones, and her shirtwaist rose and fell rapidly
from short breathing.
"Why," she said, "that's the very nicest thing any one ever said to me!"
His hand, long-fingered and virile, drooped over the edge of the bowl
into the warm water; he leaned forward with his chest against the line
of the table.
"What do you mean, Miss Sprunt?"
She took his dripping hand from the water and dried each finger
separately.
"If you had been doing high pink finishes for three years you'd know the
difference when a dull white came along--I--I mean, I--"
He smoothed away her embarrassment with a raillery: "By your polish
shall ye be known."
"Yes," she replied, with more seriousness than banter; "that's exactly
what I mean. I'm not used to men whose polish extends beyond their
finger-nails."
She worked with her head bent low, and he regarded the shining coils of
her hair.
"How droll you are!" he said.
She pushed back the half-moons of his fingers with an orange stick
dipped in cold-cream.
"You ought to watch your cuticle, Mr. Chase, and be more regular about
the manicures. Your hands are more delicate than most."
He started.
"Of course I should pay more attention to them, but I'm pretty busy
and--and--"
"Of course I understand manicures are expensive luxuries these days."
"Yes."
"I have become so accustomed to hotel trade that I forgot that some
hands may be earning salaries instead of drawing incomes."
Her manner was unobtrusive, and he laughed quietly.
"You are quite a student of types, Miss Sprunt."
"Wouldn't I have to be, Mr. Chase, me doing as many as a hundred fingers
a day, and something different coming with each ten of them?"
"You are delightful," he said, letting his amused eyes rest upon her;
"but I fear you've mysterious methods of divination."
"Oh, I don't know," she said, airily. "Just take you, for example. I
don't need an X-ray to see that there isn't a Fifth Avenue tailor sign
stitched inside your coat. It doesn't take any mind-reader to know that
you come in from the Sixth Avenue entrance and not from the elevator.
Besides, when you come to live in a lobster palace you usually have your
claws done to match your shell. I'd have given _you_ a dull white finish
without your even asking for it."
"I see where I stand with you, Miss Sprunt."
"Oh, it isn't that, Mr. Chase. I guess, if the truth was known, the
crawfish stand better with me than the lobsters."
Mr. Chase's fingers closed lightly over hers.
"I believe you mean what you say," he said.
"You bet your life I do!" she said, emphasizing each word with a buff.
She looked up, met his insistent eyes, and laughed in a high, unnatural
pitch. "Other hand, please," she whispered.
When he finally rose to depart she rose with him, holding her nosegay at
arm's-length and tilting her head.
"It's almost time for wood violets, Miss Sprunt. I'll try to get you
some."
"Oh, don't trouble, Mr. Chase; these hothouse ones are beauties."
"I--I'll be dropping in soon again, Miss Sprunt. I think I'll take your
advice and be more regular about my manicures."
"Oh," she said, in some confusion, "I--I didn't mean that. You can care
for them in between times yourself."
At the Sixth Avenue exit he paused.
"Good night," he said, slowly.
"Good night," she responded, her lips warm and parted like a child's.
When the click of his footsteps had echoed down the marble corridor Miss
Ethyl crossed the room and indulged in several jerky sniffs at the
little floral offering. "Well, whatta you know about that little tin
Willie, bringin' a goil violets in May? You better stick to the
million-dollar kid, Gert; he's the strawberries-in-December brand."
For once Miss Gertrude did not retort; her eyes, full of dreams, were
gazing past the doorway which had so recently framed the modest figure
of Mr. Chase.
Promptly at six Mr. Barker appeared for his appointment. He bespoke the
last word and epilogue in sartorial perfection--his suit was a trifle
too brown and a trifle too creased and his carnation a bit too large,
but he radiated good cheer and perfume.
Miss Ethyl nudged Miss Gertrude excitedly.
"Pipe the rig, Gert; he makes you look like a hole in a doughnut."
He entered, suave as oil.
"Well, sis, ready?"
"Oh, Mr. Barker, you're all dressed up--and look at me. I--"
"Ah-h-h, how do you like it? Some class, eh? Guess your Uncle Fuller
ain't some hit--brand-new gear from tonneau to rear wheels."
Mr. Barker circumvolved on one heel, holding his coat-tails apart.
"I blew me right fer this outfit; but it's woith the money, sis."
"If I had known I'd have gone home and dressed up, too."
"Well, whatta you know about that?" exclaimed Mr. Barker, observing her
up and down. "That there shroud you're wearing is as classy as anything
I've seen up in the lobby or any place else, and I've been all round the
woild some, too. I know the real thing from the seconds every time."
Miss Gertrude worked into her gloves.
"I guess it is more becoming for a girl like me to go plainly."
"Believe me, kiddo"--Mr. Barker placed his hand blinker-fashion against
the side of his mouth, and his lips took on an oblique slant--"take it
from me, kiddo, when it comes to real feet-on-the-fender comfort, a
nineteen-fifty suit with a extry pair of pants thrown in can make this
rig feel like a busted tire."
"Well, Mr. Barker, I'm ready if you are."
He swung one arm akimbo with an outward circular movement, clicked his
heels together, and straightened his shoulders until his speckled white
vest swelled.
"Hitch on, sis, and let's show Broadway we're in town!"
Gertrude took a pinch of sleeve between her gloved fingers; they fell
into step. At the door she turned and nodded over one shoulder.
"Good night, Ethyl dear," she said, a trifle too sweetly.
A huge mahogany-colored touring-car caparisoned in nickel and
upholstered in darker red panted and chugged at the Broadway curb. Mr.
Barker helped her into the front seat, swung himself behind the
steering-wheel, covered them over with a striped rug, and turned his
shining monster into the flux of Broadway.
Miss Gertrude leaned her head back against the upholstery and breathed a
deep-seated, satisfied sigh.
"This," she said, "is what I call living."
Mr. Barker grinned and let out five miles more to the hour.
"I guess this ain't got the Sixth Avenue 'L' skinned a mile!"
"Two miles," she said.
"Honest, sis, I could be arrested for what I think of the 'L.'"
"I know the furnishing of every third-floor front on the line," she
replied, with a dreary attempt at jocoseness.
"Never mind, kiddo, I've got my eye on you," he sang, quoting from a
street song of the hour.
They sped on silently, the wind singing in their ears.
"Want the shield up?"
"The what?"
"The glass front."
"No, thank you, Mr. Barker; this air is good."
"This old wagon can eat up the miles, all right, eh? She toured Egypt
fer two months and never turned an ankle."
"To think of having traveled as you have."
"Me, I'm the best little traveler you ever seen. More than once I drove
this car up a mountainside. Hold your hat--here goes, kiddo."
"I guess you'll think I'm slow, but this is the first time I've been in
an automobile, except once when I was sent for in a taxi-cab for a
private manicure."
"You think you could get used to mine, kiddo?" He nudged her elbow with
his free arm; she drew herself back against the cushions.
"The way I feel now," she said, closing her eyes, "I could ride this way
until the crack of doom."
They drew up before a flaring, electric-lighted cafe with an awning
extending from the entrance out to the curb. A footman swung open the
door, a doorman relieved Mr. Barker of his hat and light overcoat, a
head waiter steered them through an Arcadia of palms, flower-banked
tables, and small fountains to a mirrored corner, a lackey drew out
their chairs, a pantry boy placed crisp rolls and small pats of sweet
butter beside their plates and filled their tumblers with water from a
crystal bottle, a waiter bent almost double wrote their order on a
silver-mounted pad, and music faint as the symphony of the spheres came
to them from a small gold balcony.
Miss Gertrude removed her gloves thoughtfully.
"That is what I call living," she repeated. She leaned forward, her
elbows on the table, and the little bunch of violets at her belt worked
out and fell to the floor. An attendant sprang to recover them.
"Let 'em go," said Barker. He drew a heavy-headed rose from the
embankment between them and wiped its wet stem. "Here's a posy that's
got them beat right."
She took it and pinned it at her throat. "Thanks," she said, glancing
about her with glowing, interested eyes.
"This place makes Runey's lunch-room look like a two-weeks-old
manicure."
"I told you I was goin' to show you the time of your life, didn't I? Any
goil that goes out with me ain't with a piker."
"Gee!" said Gertrude; "if Ethyl could only see me now!"
She sipped her water, and the ice tinkled against the frail sides of the
tumbler. A waiter swung a silver dome off a platter and served them a
steaming and unpronounceable delicacy; a woman sang from the small gold
balcony--life, wine, and jewels sparkled alike.
A page with converging lines of gilt balls down the front of his uniform
passed picture post-cards, showing the cafe, from table to table.
Gertrude asked for a lead-pencil and wrote one to a cousin in Montana,
and Mr. Barker signed his name beneath hers.
They dallied with pink ices and French pastries, and he loudly requested
the best cigar in the place.
"It's all in knowin' how to live," he explained. "I've been all over the
woild, and there ain't much I don't know or ain't seen; but you gotta
know the right way to go about things."
"Anybody could tell by looking at you that you are a man of the world,"
said Miss Gertrude.
It was eleven o'clock when they entered the car for the homeward spin.