This Side of Paradise | Page 6

and I had to see a fella Yes, I've met your enchanting daughter at
dancing-school."
Then he would shake hands, using that slight, half-foreign bow, with all
the starchy little females, and nod to the fellas who would be standing
'round, paralyzed into rigid groups for mutual protection.

A butler (one of the three in Minneapolis) swung open the door. Amory
stepped inside and divested himself of cap and coat. He was mildly
surprised not to hear the shrill squawk of conversation from the next
room, and he decided it must be quite formal. He approved of that-as he
approved of the butler.
"Miss Myra," he said.
To his surprise the butler grinned horribly.
"Oh, yeah," he declared, "she's here." He was unaware that his failure
to be cockney was ruining his standing. Amory considered him coldly.
"But," continued the butler, his voice rising unnecessarily, "she's the
only one what is here. The party's gone."
Amory gasped in sudden horror.
"What?"
"She's been waitin' for Amory Blaine. That's you, ain't it? Her mother
says that if you showed up by five-thirty you two was to go after 'em in
the Packard."
Amory's despair was crystallized by the appearance of Myra herself,
bundled to the ears in a polo coat, her face plainly sulky, her voice
pleasant only with difficulty.
"'Lo, Amory."
"'Lo, Myra." He had described the state of his vitality. "Wellyou got
here, anyways."
"WellI'll tell you. I guess you don't know about the auto accident," he
romanced.
Myra's eyes opened wide.
"Who was it to?"

"Well," he continued desperately, "uncle 'n aunt 'n I." "Was any one
killed?"
Amory paused and then nodded.
"Your uncle?"alarm.
"Oh, no just a horsea sorta gray horse."
At this point the Erse butler snickered.
"Probably killed the engine," he suggested. Amory would have put him
on the rack without a scruple.
"We'll go now," said Myra coolly. "You see, Amory, the bobs were
ordered for five and everybody was here, so we couldn't wait" "Well, I
couldn't help it, could I?"
"So mama said for me to wait till ha'past five. We'll catch the bobs
before it gets to the Minnehaha Club, Amory."
Amory's shredded poise dropped from him. He pictured the happy
party jingling along snowy streets, the appearance of the limousine, the
horrible public descent of him and Myra before sixty reproachful eyes,
his apologya real one this time. He sighed aloud.
"What?" inquired Myra.
"Nothing. I was just yawning. Are we going to surely catch up with 'em
before they get there?" He was encouraging a faint hope that they might
slip into the Minnehaha Club and meet the others there, be found in
blasi seclusion before the fire and quite regain his lost attitude.
"Oh, sure Mike, we'll catch 'em all rightlet's hurry."
He became conscious of his stomach. As they stepped into the machine
he hurriedly slapped the paint of diplomacy over a rather box-like plan
he had conceived. It was based upon some "trade-lasts" gleaned at
dancing-school, to the effect that he was "awful good-looking and

English, sort of."
"Myra," he said, lowering his voice and choosing his words carefully,
"I beg a thousand pardons. Can you ever forgive me?" She regarded
him gravely, his intent green eyes, his mouth, that to her
thirteen-year-old, arrow-collar taste was the quintessence of romance.
Yes, Myra could forgive him very easily.
"Why yes sure."
He looked at her again, and then dropped his eyes. He had lashes.
"I'm awful," he said sadly. "I'm diff'runt. I don't know why I make faux
pas. 'Cause I don't care, I s'pose." Then, recklessly: "I been smoking too
much. I've got t'bacca heart."
Myra pictured an all-night tobacco debauch, with Amory pale and
reeling from the effect of nicotined lungs. She gave a little gasp.
"Oh, Amory, don't smoke. You'll stunt your growth!"
"I don't care," he persisted gloomily. "I gotta. I got the habit. I've done
a lot of things that if my fambly knew"he hesitated, giving her
imagination time to picture dark horrors"I went to the burlesque show
last week."
Myra was quite overcome. He turned the green eyes on her again.
"You're the only girl in town I like much," he exclaimed in a rush of
sentiment. "You're simpatico."
Myra was not sure that she was, but it sounded stylish though vaguely
improper.
Thick dusk had descended outside, and as the limousine made a sudden
turn she was jolted against him; their hands touched. "You shouldn't
smoke, Amory," she whispered. "Don't you know that?"
He shook his head.

"Nobody cares."
Myra hesitated.
"I care."
Something stirred within Amory.
"Oh, yes, you do! You got a crush on Froggy Parker. I guess everybody
knows that."
"No, I haven't," very slowly.
A silence, while Amory thrilled. There was something fascinating
about Myra, shut away here cosily