Part 13 (1/2)
”I am with Wahlbaum, Grossman & Co.”
”Are they decent to you?”
”Very.”
He thought a moment, hesitated, appeared as though about to speak, then seemed to reject the idea whatever it might have been.
”You live with your sisters, don't you?” he asked.
”Yes.”
He planted his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, his head on his hands, apparently buried in thought.
After a little while: ”C. Bailey, Junior,” she ventured, ”you must not let me keep you too long.”
”What?” He lifted his head.
”You are on your way to the opera, aren't you?”
”Am I? That's so.... I'd rather stay here if you'll let me.”
”But the _opera_!” she protested with emphasis.
”What do I care for the opera?”
”Don't you?”
He laughed: ”No; do you?”
”I'm mad about it.”
Still laughing he said: ”Then, in my place, _you_ wouldn't give up the opera for _me_, would you, Athalie?”
She started to say ”No!” very decidedly; but checked herself. Then, deliberately honest:
”If,” she began, ”I were going to the opera, and you came in here--after four years of not seeing you--and if I had to choose--I don't believe I'd go to the opera. But it would be a dreadful wrench, C. Bailey, Junior!”
”It's no wrench to me.”
”Because you often go.”
”Because, even if I seldom went there could be no question of choice between the opera and Athalie Greensleeve.”
”C. Bailey, Junior, you are not honest.”
”Yes, I am. Why do you say so?”
”I judge by past performances,” she said, her humorous eyes on him.
”Are you going to throw past performances in my face every time I come to see you?”