Part 9 (2/2)
This watchful waiting's entirely the wrong idea.”
”Why do we do it then?” Billy inquired pathetically.
”I wanted Nancy to sow her economic wild oats. I guess you felt the same way about Caroline.”
”Well, they've sowed 'em, haven't they?”
”Not by a long shot. That's the trouble,--they don't get any forrider, from our point of view. I thought it would be the best policy to stand by and let Nancy work it out. I thought her restaurant would either fail spectacularly in a month, or succeed brilliantly and she'd make over the executive end of it to somebody else. I never thought of her buckling down like this, and wearing herself out at it.”
”There's a pretty keen edge on Caroline this summer.”
”I'm afraid Nancy's in pretty deep,” d.i.c.k said. ”The money end of it worries me as much as anything.”
”I wouldn't let that worry me.”
”She won't take any of mine, you know.”
”I know she won't. See here, d.i.c.k, I wouldn't worry about Nancy's finances. She'll come out all right about money.”
”What makes you think so?”
”I know so. We've got lots of things in the world to worry about, things that are scheduled to go wrong unless we're mighty delicate in the way we handle 'em. Let's worry about _them_, and leave Nancy's financial problems to take care of themselves.”
”Which means,” d.i.c.k said, ”that you are sure that she's all right. I'm not in her confidence in this matter--”
”Well, I am,” Billy said, ”I'm her legal adviser, and with all due respect to your taste in girls, it's a very difficult position to occupy. What with the things she won't listen to and the things she won't learn, and the things she actually knows more about than I do--”
The indulgent smile of the true lover lit d.i.c.k's face, as if Billy had waxed profoundly eulogistic. Unconsciously, Billy's own tenderness took fire at the flame.
”Why don't we run away with 'em?” he said, breathing heavily.
d.i.c.k stopped in a convenient doorway to light his third cigarette, end on.
”It's the answer to you and Caroline,” he said.
”Why not to you and Nancy?”
”It may be,” d.i.c.k said, ”I dunno. I've reached an _impa.s.se_. Still there is a great deal in your proposition.”
They turned in at the portico that extended out over the big oak doors of their club. An attendant in white turned the k.n.o.b for them, with the grin of enthusiastic welcome that was the usual tribute to these two good-looking, well set up young men from those who served them.
”I'll think it over,” d.i.c.k added, as he gave up his hat and stick, ”and let you know what decision I come to.”
In another five minutes they were deep in a game of Kelly-pool from which d.i.c.k emerged triumphantly richer by the sum of a dollar and ninety cents, and Billy the poorer by the loss of a quarter.
There is a town in Connecticut, within a reasonable motoring distance from New York that has been called the Gretna Green of America. Here well-informed young couples are able to expedite the business of matrimony with a phenomenal neatness and despatch. Licenses can be procured by special dispensation, and the nuptial knot tied as solemnly and solidly as if a premeditated train of bridesmaids and flower girls and loving relatives had been rehea.r.s.ed for days in advance.
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