Produced by Janet Blenkinship and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) GIGOLO BY EDNA FERBER AUTHOR OF SO BIG, EMMA McCHESNEY & CO., FANNY HERSELF, THE GIRLS, ETC. GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Made in the United States of America COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY McCLURE's MAGAZINE, INCORPORATED COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY P. F. COLLIER & SON COMPANY IN THE UNITED STATES, GREAT BRITAIN AND CANADA COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY THE CROWELL PUBLISHING COMPANY, AND THE PICTORIAL REVIEW COMPANY PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. * * * * * CONTENTS PAGE THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN 1 OLD MAN MINICK 34 GIGOLO 69 NOT A DAY OVER TWENTY-ONE 106 HOME GIRL 150 AIN'T NATURE WONDERFUL! 188 THE SUDDEN SIXTIES 222 IF I SHOULD EVER TRAVEL! 259 _GIGOLO_ THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN Though he rarely heeded its summons--cagy boy that he was--the telephone rang oftenest for Nick. Because of the many native noises of the place, the telephone had a special bell that was a combination buzz and ring. It sounded above the roar of outgoing cars, the splash of the hose, the sputter and hum of the electric battery in the rear. Nick heard it, unheeding. A voice--Smitty's or Mike's or Elmer's--answering its call. Then, echoing through the grey, vaulted spaces of the big garage: "Nick! Oh, Ni-ick!" From the other side of the great cement-floored enclosure, or in muffled tones from beneath a car: "Whatcha want?" "Dame on the wire." "I ain't in." The obliging voice again, dutifully repeating the message: "He ain't in.... Well, it's hard to say. He might be in in a couple hours and then again he might not be back till late. I guess he's went to Hammond on a job----" (Warming to his task now.) "Say, won't I do?... Who's fresh! Aw, say, _lady_!" You'd think, after repeated rebuffs of this sort, she could not possibly be so lacking in decent pride as to leave her name for Smitty or Mike or Elmer to bandy about. But she invariably did, baffled by Nick's elusiveness. She was likely to be any one of a number. Miss Bauers phoned: Will you tell him, please? (A nasal voice, and haughty, with the hauteur that seeks to conceal secret fright.) Tell him it's important. Miss Ahearn phoned: Will you tell him, please? Just say Miss Ahearn. A-h-e-a-r-n. Miss Olson: Just Gertie. But oftenest Miss Bauers. Cupid's messenger, wearing grease-grimed overalls and the fatuous grin of the dalliant male, would transmit his communication to the uneager Nick.