Humorous stories; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Private secretaries -- Fiction
"Oh!" says she. "That kind! But aren't there any other men around?"
"Only Mr. Robert Ellins," says I.
"Really!" says she, her eyes widenin'! "Bob Ellins! That's nice. I met
him once when he came to see Marjorie at boarding school. I was such an
infant then, though. But now----"
She dives into her vanity bag and proceeds to retouch the scenic effects
on her face.
"Don't waste it," says I. "He's sewed up--a Miss Hampton. She's there,
too."
"Pooh!" pouts Miss Buell. "Who cares? She doesn't keep him in a cage,
does she?"
"It ain't that," says I; "but his eyesight for anyone else is mighty
poor."
"Oh, is it?" says she, sarcastic and doubtful. "We'll see about that.
But, anyway, I'm beginning to be glad I came. Can you guess why?"
"I'm a wild guesser," says I. "Shoot it."
"Because," says she, "I think I'm going to like you rather well."
More business of cuddlin', and a hand dropped careless on my shoulder.
We were still more 'n a mile from the house, and if I was to do any
blockin'-off stunt, it was high time I begun. I twists my head around
and gazes at the careless hand.
"Excuse me, sister," says I, "but before this goes any further I got to
ask a question. Are your intentions serious?"
"Why, the idea!" says she. "What on earth do you mean?"
"I only want to be sure," says I, "that you ain't tryin' to trifle with
my young affections."
She stiffens at that and goes a little gaspy. Also she grabs away the
hand.
"Of all the conceit!" says she. "Anyone might think that--that----"
"So they might," says I. "Of course, it's sweet to be picked out this
way; but it's a little sudden, ain't it? You know, I'm kind of young
and----"
"I've a great mind to box your ears!" breaks in Ella May.
"In that case," says I, "I couldn't even promise to be a brother to
you."
"Wretch!" says she, her eyes snappin'.
"Sorry," says I, "but you'll get over it. It may be a little hard at
first, but in time you'll meet another who will make you forget."
That last jab had her speechless, and all she could do was run her
tongue out at me. But it worked. After that she snuggled in her own
corner, and when we lands at the house she's treatin' me with cold
disdain, almost as if I'd been a reg'lar brother. There's no knowin',
either, what report Marjorie got. Must have been something interestin',
for when she finally comes down after steerin' Miss Buell to her room,
she gives me the knowin' wink.
Ella May gets even, though. She holds up dinner forty-five minutes while
she sheds her travelin' costume for an evenin' gown. And it's some
startlin' creation she springs on us about the time we're ready to bite
the glass knobs off the dinin'-room doors. She's a stunner, all right,
and she sails down with that baby stare turned on full voltage.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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