Our Mr. Wrenn: The Romantic Adventures of a Gentle ManLewis, Sinclair
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Our Mr. Wrenn: The Romantic Adventures of a Gentle Man
Lewis, Sinclair
Courtship -- Fiction; Love stories; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Middle-aged men -- United States -- Fiction
“Why, child, you won’t do anything of the sort. Ma hasn’t got a bit of
kick coming. You’ve always been awful nice, far as I can see.” She
smiled lavishly. “I went for a walk to-night…. I wish all those men
wouldn’t stare at a girl so. I’m sure I don’t see why they should stare
at me.”
Mr. Wrenn nodded, but that didn’t seem to be the right comment, so he
shook his head, then looked frightfully embarrassed.
“I went by that Armenian restaurant you were telling me about, Mr.
Wrenn. Some time I believe I’ll go dine there.” Again she paused.
He said only, “Yes, it is a nice place.”
Remarking to herself that there was no question about it, after all, he
_was_ a little fool, Theresa continued the siege. “Do you dine there
often?”
“Oh yes. It is a nice place.”
“Could a lady go there?”
“Why, yes, I—”
“Yes!”
“I should think so,” he finished.
“Oh!… I do get so awfully tired of the greasy stuff Ma and Goaty dish
up. They think a big stew that tastes like dish-water is a dinner, and
if they do have anything I like they keep on having the same thing
every day till I throw it in the sink. I wish I could go to a
restaurant once in a while for a change, but of course—I dunno’s it
would be proper for a lady to go alone even there. What do you think?
Oh dear!” She sat brooding sadly.
He had an inspiration. Perhaps Miss Theresa could be persuaded to go
out to dinner with him some time. He begged:
“Gee, I wish you’d let me take you up there some evening, Miss Zapp.”
“Now, didn’t I tell you to call me ‘Miss Theresa’? Well, I suppose you
just don’t want to be friends with me. Nobody does.” She brooded again.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Honest I didn’t. I’ve always
thought you’d think I was fresh if I called you ‘Miss Theresa,’ and so
I—”
“Why, I guess I could go up to the Armenian with you, perhaps. When
would you like to go? You know I’ve always got lots of dates but
I—um—let’s see, I think I could go to-morrow evening.”
“Let’s do it! Shall I call for you, Miss—uh—Theresa?”
“Yes, you may if you’ll be a good boy. Good night.” She departed with
an air of intimacy.
Mr. Wrenn scuttled to the Nickelorion, and admitted to the Brass-button
Man that he was “feeling pretty good ’s evening.”
He had never supposed that a handsome creature like Miss Theresa could
ever endure such a “slow fellow” as himself. For about one minute he
considered with a chill the question of whether she was agreeable
because of his new wealth, but reproved the fiend who was making the
suggestion; for had he not heard her mention with great scorn a second
cousin who had married an old Yankee for his money? That just settled
_that_, he assured himself, and scowled at a passing messenger-boy for
having thus hinted, but hastily grimaced as the youngster showed signs
of loud displeasure.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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