Please--please--"
He caught her to him then, and back in the sheltering cove of baggage
thrust back her head, kissing deep into the veiling.
"Beautiful! Angel Beautiful!"
"Swear to me, Lester, you'll see me through."
"I swear, Beautiful."
"Swear to me, or hope to die and lose your luck!"
He kissed her again so that her hat tilted backward, straining at its
pins.
"Hope to die and lose my luck."
"My own preciousness!" she said, her eyes tear-glazed and yearning up
into his.
"'Sh-h, Pussy; here comes Sol Sopinsky to hurry me on board. Funny the
Pelz crowd don't show up. Quit it! Here they come! That's their car. Cut
it--quick!"
With noiselessly thrown clutch, the Pelz limousine drew up between an
aisle of bales, its door immediately flung open. First, Mr. Pelz
emerging, with an immediate arm held back for Mrs. Pelz. Last, Miss
Pelz, a delightful paradox of sheer summer silk and white-fox furs, her
small face flushed and carefully powdered up about the eyes.
"There he is, dad! Over there with Norma and Uncle Sol!"
"Don't run so, Bleema; he'll come over to you."
But she was around and through the archipelago of baggage.
"Lester darling! There was a tie-up at Thirty-third Street.
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