Vicky Van | Page 4

sought to dismiss us was a wave of her white arms and a smile of her red lips, and I, for one, found it impossible to obey. I started with the rest, and then after the gay crowd were part way down stairs I turned back.
"Please, mayn't I join your little class, if I'll be very good?" I begged. "I don't want Bert Garrison to be left alone at the mercy of two such sirens."
Miss Van Allen hesitated. Her pink-tipped forefinger rested a moment on her curved lip. "Yes," she said, nodding her head. "Yes, stay, Mr. Calhoun. You may be a help. Are you any good at getting theatre boxes after they're all sold?"
"That's my profession," I returned. "I learned it from a correspondence school. Where's the theatre? Lead me to it!"
"It's the Metropolis Theatre," she replied. "And I want to have a party there to-morrow night, and I want two boxes, and this awful, dreadful, bad Mr. Garrison says they're all sold, and I can't get any! What can you do about it?"
"Oh, I'll fix it. I'll go to the people who bought the boxes you want, and--I don't know what I'll say to them, exactly--but I'll fix up such a yarn that they'll beg me to take the boxes off their hands."
"Oh, will you, really?" and the dazzling smile she gave me would have repaid a much greater Herculean task than I had undertaken. And, of course, I hadn't meant it, but when she thought I did, I couldn't go back on my word.
"I'll do my best, Miss Van Allen," I said, seriously, "and if I can't possibly turn the trick, I'll--well, I'll buy the Metropolitan Opera House, and put on a show of my own."
"No," she laughed, "you needn't do that. But if you try and fail--why, we'll just have a little party here, a sort of consolation party, and--oh, let's have some private theatricals. Wouldn't that be fun!"
"More fun than the original program?" I asked quickly, hoping to be let off my promise.
"No, sir!" she cried, "decidedly not! I want especially to have that theatre party and supper afterward at the Britz. Now you do all you can, won't you?"
I promised to do all I could, and I had a partial hope I could get what she wanted by hook or crook, and then, as she heard a specially favorite fox-trot being dashed off on the piano downstairs, she sprang from her seat, and kicking the satin cushion aside, asked me to dance. In a moment we were whirling around the music room to the zipping music, and Mrs. Reeve and Garrison followed in our steps.
Vicky danced with a natural born talent that is quite unlike anything acquired by lessons. I had no need to guide her, she divined my lead, and swayed in any direction, even as I was about to indicate it. I had never danced with anyone who danced so well, and I was profuse in my thanks and praise.
"I love it," she said simply, as she patted the gold fringes of her gown into place. "I adore dancing, and you are one of the best partners I have ever had. Come, let us go down and cut into a Bridge game. We'll just about have time before supper."
Pirouetting before me, she led the way, and we went down the long steep stairs.
A shout greeted her appearance in the doorway.
"Oh, Vicky, we have missed you! Come over here and listen to Ted's latest old joke!"
"No, come over here and hear this awful gossip Ariadne is telling for solemn truth. It's the very worst taradiddle she ever got off!"
"Here's a place, Vicky Van, a nice cosy corner, 'tween Jim and me. Come on, Ladygirl."
"No, thanks, everybody. I'm going to cut in at this table. May I? Am I a nuisance?"
"A Vicky-nuisance! They ain't no such animal!" and Bailey Mason rose to give her his chair.
"No," said she, "I want you to stay, Mr. Mason. 'Cause why, I want to play wiz you. Cassie, you give me your place, won't you, Ducky-Daddles? and you go and flirt with Mr. Calhoun. He knows the very newest flirts! Go, give him a tryout."
Vicky Van settled herself into her seat with the happy little sigh of the bridge lover, who sits down with three good players, and in another moment she was breathlessly looking over her hand. "Without," she said, triumphantly, and knowing she'd say no word more to me for the present, I walked away with Cassie Weldon.
And Cassie was good fun. She took me to the piano, and with the soft pedal down, she showed me a new little tone picture she had made up, which was both picturesque and funny.
"You'd better go into vaudeville!" I exclaimed, as she finished, "your talent is wasted on