United States -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Women college students -- Fiction
“Right. He horned in on the craps, and by the way, after a round or two
he began taking away everybody’s cash, so the taxi bill might not have
made him as sad as it would have made me—and pretty soon Sal and Wigs
and the gang faded off down town to get a club sandwich, but I stuck
around and so did this Dalton bird. He had never played about with me at
all, so I took a somersault when he began to mention you in an offhand
way. Said he had seen you a couple of onces, and wanted to again
sometime.”
“I told him I was too busy to see him,” Joy interpolated, trying to
struggle to a sitting posture. Jerry raised a restraining hand.
“Take it from one who has flown about on the four winds, Joy—he’s all
right. He played a hunch to come up that night, and he might have saved
your life for all you know.”
Joy fell back on the pillows. “Oh, all right—but go on.”
Jerry smiled. “Don’t interrupt and I’ll spill it fast——Just at that
moment dear little Packy blew in on one of the stiffest breaths I’ve
come near since the first of July. Wanted to know where you were, why
you weren’t there, etcetera, and I told him to go to and stay put. He
paced out banging the door in good old ten-twenty-thirty style, and
Dalton passed the remark that he’d seen the angel messing around you
before and didn’t like the way he parted his hair. I took a glim out of
the window with some small idea of drowning Packy’s pretty car with a
bucket of varnish there happened to be handy, when you breezed up and
stood talking to him with all the life in the world. I knew there was a
nice speedy wind out which would muffle Packy’s breath, so I hove up the
window and bade you come in out of the wet. But no—you would go
a-riding, and I was all for letting you go, but Dalton got a taxi while
I was still bandying words with you, and told me to put on my old grey
bonnet and trot along with him. I trotted!” She took a long breath.
“God, Joy, that was a ride! I had netted the info that you were going
out on the Shore Road, but there was always the chance you’d change your
minds, and we had one whirl getting you into view! Some joy-ride—cheery
for me no end—with Dalton bickering along with himself to the effect
that he wouldn’t let that fellow take you out alone with as enthusiastic
a breath as he was exhibiting—my only recreation was making up five
different stories which I told the taxi-boy, about the car we were
streaking after—which made him put on all speed and sizzle along,
anyhow.”
“I saw your car,” said Joy, “or else I wouldn’t have tried to jump.”
“Oh—so that’s what brought about the smash!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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