The best short stories of 1915, and the yearbook of the American short story
General
The best short stories of 1915, and the yearbook of the American short story
American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories -- 20th century -- Bibliography; Short stories -- 20th century -- Indexes; Short stories, American
Flags of all nations and all sizes made a galaxy of the Sixth Avenue
hall. An orchestra played beneath an arch of them. Supper, consisting
of three-inch-thick sandwiches, tamales, steaming and smelling in their
buckets, bottles of beer and soda water, was spread on a long picnic
table running the entire length of the balcony.
The main floor, big as an armory, airless as a tomb, swarmed with
dancers.
After supper a red sateen Pierrette, quivering, teeth flashing beneath
a saucy half mask, bowed to a sateen Pierrot, whose face was as slim as
a satyr's and whose smile was as upturned as the eye slits in his mask.
"Gee, Charley, you look just like a devil in that costume--all red, and
your mouth squinted like that!"
"And you look just like a little red cherry, ready to bust."
And they were off in the whirl of the dance, except that the
close-packed dancers hemmed them in a swaying mob; and once she fell
back against his shoulder, faint.
"Ain't there a--a upstairs somewheres, Charley, where they got air? All
this jam and no windows open! Gee ain't it hot? Let's go outside where
it's cool--let's."
"There you go again! No wonder you got a cold on you--always wanting air
on you! Come, Sweetness; this ain't hot. Here, lemme show you the dip I
get the girls crazy with. One, two, three--dip! One, two, three--dip!
Ugh!"
"Gee, ain't it a jam, though?"
"One, two, three!"
"That's swell, Charley! Quit! You mustn't squeeze me like that
till--till you've asked me to be engaged, Charley. We--we ain't engaged
yet, are we, Charley?"
"Aw, what difference does that make? You girls make me sick--always
wanting to know that."
"It--it makes a lot of difference, Charley."
"There you go on that Amen talk again. All right, then; I won't squeeze
you no more, Stingy!"
Her step was suddenly less elastic and she lagged on his arm.
"I--I never said you, couldn't, Charley. Gee, ain't you a great one to
get mad so quick. Touchy! I only said not till we're engaged."
He skirted the crowd, guiding her skillfully.
"Stingy! Stingy! I know 'em that ain't so stingy as you."
"Charley!"
"What?"
"Aw, I'm ashamed to say it."
"Listen! They're playin' the new one--Up to Snuff! Faster! Don't make me
drag you, kiddo. Faster!"
They were suddenly in the center of the maze, as tight-packed as though
an army had conspired to close round them. She coughed and, in her
effort at repression coughed again.
"Charley, I--honest, I--I'm going to keel. I--I can't stand it packed in
here--like this."
She leaned to him, with the color drained out of her face; and the crowd
of black and pink and red dominos, gnomes gone mad, pressed, batted,
surged.
"Look out, Sweetness! Don't give out in here! They'll crush us out.
Ain't you got no nerve? Here; don't give out now! Gee! Watch out, there!
The lady's sick. Watch out! Here; now sit down a minute and get your
wind."
He pressed her shoulders downward and she dropped whitely on a little
camp chair hidden underneath the balcony.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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