The solution of every human problem always opens another. People danced
themselves into enormities of appetite and thirst. It was not that food
was attractive in itself. Far from it. It was an interruption, a
distraction from the tango; a base streak of materialism in the bacon of
ecstasy. But it was necessary in order that strength might be kept up
for further dancing.
Deacon Flugal put it happily: "Eating is just like stoking. When I'm
giving a party at our house I hate to have to leave the company and go
down cellar and throw coal in the furnace. But it's got to be did or the
party's gotter stop."
Carthage had one good hotel and two bad ones, but all three were "down
near the deepo." Almost the only other place to eat away from home was
"Jake Meyer's Place," an odious restaurant where the food was ill chosen
and ill cooked, and served in china of primeval shapes as if stone had
been slightly hollowed out.
Prue was complaining that there was no place in Carthage where people
could dance with their meals and give "teas donsons." Horace was smitten
with a tremendous idea.
"Why not persuade Jake Meyer to clear a space in his rest'runt like they
do in Chicawgo?"
Prue was enraptured, and Horace was despatched to Jake with the proffer
of a magnificent opportunity. Horace cannily tried to extract from Jake
the promise of a commission before he told him. Jake promised. Then
Horace sprang his invention.
Now Jake was even more bitter against the tango than Doctor Brearley,
Judge Hippisley, or Mr. Pepperall. The bar annex to his restaurant, or
rather the bar to which his restaurant was annexed, had been almost
deserted of evenings since the vicious dance mania raged. The
bowling-alley where the thirst-producing dust was wont to arise in
clouds was mute. Over his head he heard the eternal Maugans and the
myriad-hoofed shuffle of the unceasing dance. When he understood what
Horace proposed he emitted the roar of an old uhlan, and the only
commission he offered Horace was the commission of murder upon his
person.
Horace retreated in disorder and reported to Prue. Prue called upon Jake
herself, smilingly told him that all he needed to do was to crowd his
tables together round a clear space, revolutionize his menu, get a cook
who would cook, and spend about five hundred dollars on decorations.
"Five hundret thalers!" Jake howled. "I sell you de whole shop for five
hundret thalers."
"I'll think it over," said Prue as she walked out.
She could think over all of it except the five hundred dollars. She had
never thought that high. She told Horace, and he said that the way to
finance anything was to borrow the money from the bank.
Prue called on Clarence Dolge, the bank president she knew best. He
asked her a number of personal questions about her earnings. He was
surprised at their amount and horrified that she had saved none of them.
He advised her to start an account with him; but she reminded him that
she had not come to put in, but to take out.
He said that he would cheerfully lend her the money if she could get a
proper indorsement on her note. She knew that her father did not indorse
her dancing, but perhaps he might feel differently about her note.
"I might get poppa to sign his name," she smiled.
Mr. Dolge exclaimed, "No, thank you!" without a moment's hesitation. He
already had a sheaf of papa's autographs, all duly protested.
She went to another bank, whose president announced that he would have
to put the very unusual proposal before the directors. Judge Hippisley
was most of the directors. The president did not report exactly what the
directors said, for Prue, after all, was a woman. But she did not get
the five hundred.
Prue had set her heart on providing Carthage with a _cafe dansant_. She
determined to save her money. Prue saving!
It was hard, too, for shoes gave out quickly and she could not wear the
same frock all the time. And sometimes at night she was so tired she
just could not walk home and she rode home in a hack. A number of young
men offered to buggy-ride her home or to take her in their little
automobiles. But they, too, seemed to confuse art and business with
foolishness.
Sometimes she would ask Ort to ride home with her, but she wouldn't let
him pay for the hack. Indeed he could not if he would. His devotion to
Prue's school had cost him his job, and the judge would not give him a
penny.
Sometimes in the hack Prue would permit Ort to keep his arm round her.
Sometimes when he was very doleful she would have to ask him to put it
round her. But it was all right, because they were going to get married
when Orton learned how to earn some money. He was afraid he would have
to leave Carthage. But how could he tear himself from Prue? She would
not let him talk about it.