"
"Sure."
"Honest, if I wasn't already tagged and spoken for, I'd set my cap for
him myself."
"'Mother, mother, mother, pin a rose on me!'" cried Mr. Sensenbrenner,
with no great pertinence.
Miss Kinealy threw him a northwest glance. "Ain't he the cut-up,
Stella?"
"He sure is."
"Br-a-a-y!" said Mr. Sensenbrenner, again none too relevantly.
"Oh, show her the way the zebra in the Park goes on Sunday morning,
Arch!"
He inserted two fingers, splaying his mouth. "Heigh-ho!
He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!"
"Ain't that lifelike, Stella?"
"It sure is."
"Oh, look! Up there--the third story--see--those are the Cobbs'
windows, all lit up! Oh, gee! I just can't make my feet behave. Waltz me
around again, Archie! No; you got to take the first dance with Stella."
"Oh no, Cora; he wants--"
"You hear, Arch?"
"Sure; only, I can't force her if she don't want to."
"Sure she wants to! Hurry! I hear Skinnay Flint's ukulele. Gee! I just
can't make my feet be-have!"
They entered an institutional, sanitary, and legislation-smelling box of
foyer and up three flights of fire-proof stairs. At each landing were
four fire-proof doors, lettered. The Cobbs' door, "H," stood open, an
epicene medley of voices and laughter floating down the long neck of
hallway on the syncopated whine of a ukulele.
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