No answer.
"Jimmy!"
Again, no answer.
Her hand slid across his arm and sought his.
"Mad?"
"Mm--no."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
"Then why wouldn't you answer?"
"Just because!" he mimicked her.
She slapped his hand gently, his hand opened and they clasped again.
There was a pause.
"Erna," he said in bolder tones.
"Not so loud!" she warned him.
"Well then--Erna," he repeated in very low tones.
"That's better."
"How about it?"
"About what?"
"What I asked you 'fore we came here?"
"I asked you not to repeat that," was her reproach.
"I know, but I can't help it. Don't you like it here?"
"Sure."
"I mean here, side o' me--in the dark?"
"Yes."
"Well--" He hesitated.
"Well?" she mocked him.
"Think o' how swell it'd be--"
"Be careful, Jimmy!"
"I can't help it," he persisted. "Think o' how swell it'd be--"
"Jimmy!" she warned him once more.
"Oh shucks!" he returned aloud, and was silent. There was a longer
pause.
"Jimmy!"
No answer.
"Jimmy!"
Again, no answer.
"Jimmy!"
A third time, no answer.
She pressed his hand and pushed against his shoulder, but he would not
respond. Erna gave in. "I'm sorry--forgive me?"
"Mm--"
"Do you forgive me?"
"Yes."
"You don't say it very loud."
"Well, you jumped on me before for talkin' loud."
"You'd wake the audience," she apologized.
"Well?" he challenged.
"Well what?" she retorted.
"What did you want to say?"
"Nothin'."
"All right!"--and he was silent.
"Ah yes, Jimmy," she resigned.
"Well?"
"You can go on with--with your story, but--but don't go too far."
"All right."
"Promise?"
"Yes."
"Then go ahead."
He revolved matters in his blunt mind, and recommenced: "You remember, I
told you 'bout the--the little furnished flat my manager, Nolan, asked
me to move in?"
"Yes?"
"Well, why couldn't we--just you an' me--"
"Jimmy!"
"I know, but I can't help it, Erna. Things is different now. When I
asked you that time--well, that's all over now. You an' I's forgotten
that. So what's buried's buried. An' times is different now. You've got
a job, though it's a punk one. I've got a little money an' more to come,
an' I've cut drinkin'. My health's fine an' prospects great. After I
finish 'the Kid' there'll be Young Walcott--an' after Walcott, a bunch
o' others--"
"But Jimmy--"
"Don't butt in!" he begged seriously. "Now, I know you hate that job o'
yours--"
"It ain't all cheese an' honey," she confessed.
"No, an' it never will be. Now, why can't you pull up stakes--"
"Jimmy!"
"Don't butt in!" he begged more seriously. "This is different than last
time. I'm a--a respectable man now an' you're a respectable woman."
"Always have been," she cautioned him.
"I know," he hastened to admit. "What I've been tryin' to say is: Keep
your job a little longer if you want to, till I go on with mine an' get
lots o' dough. In the meanwhile--" He stopped.
"Well?" she ventured, but with an ominous inflection.
"I'll rent the little flat off Nolan, an' you an' I can--"
"Jimmy!"
"But I'm askin' you to _marry_ me this time," he protested.
"I know."
"Ain't that different?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it ain't."
"Why not?"
"Because it ain't."
"But Erna--"
"Now listen, Jimmy! You promised not to go too far."
"Oh shucks!" he broke out.
They were silent. He let go her hand and drew away a short distance. She
removed her hand rather reluctantly. Once or twice, she pushed against
his shoulder. But he would not respond.
The romantic pictures disappeared, and the music ceased. The lights were
turned on. There was a sigh throughout the audience. Erna and Jimmy
seemed glad of the change as well. A little sooner, they would have been
sorry.
She glanced his way. He was not looking in her direction. She nudged
him. He still refused to turn his head. "Jimmy," she whispered tenderly.
He stole a half glance at her. She was smiling in invitation. He could
not help smiling too.
"You all right now?" she ventured.
He turned toward her, and instantly, his ever-ready laugh dispelled
their gloom.
"You all right?" she repeated.
"Yes," he admitted, and declared: "Some scrap that!"
"No, it wasn't," she reassured him and smiled with revived mischief.
Their hands fell back to their natural occupation.
"Turn out the lights!" Jimmy commanded in so loud a tone that most of
their neighbors, as well as Erna, giggled.
A German comedian made his appearance and offered the usual monologue.
No musical accompaniment was required for this act; therefore, Carstairs
had disappeared under the stage. He had not seen Erna and Jimmy, nor
they him.
V
Carstairs was waiting at the street corner rendezvous early the
following Sunday evening. Impatience had kept him company all day, a
long day, but the impatience he felt now was even keener. He had been
ahead of their appointment by about twenty minutes, for he was afraid
that Erna might be there first. His vigil was that much the longer and
more trying. What hours it took for minutes to pass! Suppose she did not
come?
The fates, however, were good-humored. He could see an athletic figure
coming along at a familiar leisurely pace. It was Erna. His joy and
excitement were such that he could scarcely wait for her to reach him.
What made her walk so slowly?
"Hello," was her soft cheery greeting.
He had avoided the bakery restaurant all day. He could hardly return her
salutation, the last of his courage having fled.
"Where--where shall we go?" he questioned.
"Anywhere," she agreed genially.
Now was his opportunity. He must ask her. Of course, they could not walk
the streets the whole of his two hours' freedom. Nor could they go to
the theatre so early. Would she sense these arguments? Moreover, they
had been to a restaurant for a little refreshment and conversation on
their two former outings. She had not enjoyed those visits particularly,
reminding her, as they must have, of her daily life at Landsmann's.
"It's a little bit too cold," he ventured.
"Not so very," she returned mischievously, as they started walking.