Get a Load of This

     Slug said, “Gee, I thought you'd got lost.”

     She shook her head. “Have you arranged anything?” she asked, as if she quite expected that he had done no such thing.

     More confident, Slug put a hot, heavy hand on her arm. “Sure,” he said, “I fixed all this up yesterday. We got number eighteen table. The eats are all ordered, so come on in an' get the nosebag on.”

     She moved her arm, trying to escape his touch, but Slug was grimly determined that she should begin to realize that this wasn't going to be all her outing.

     The splendour of the dining-room shook him considerably, but the head waiter was there to receive him, and under a battery of staring eyes Slug eventually sat down at a little table near the band.

     Unfortunately, the dinner was quite beyond Slug's powers to appreciate. In fact, he hated nearly all of it. The champagne irritated the back of his nose and the various French dishes made him feel slightly sick. The problem of the mass of silver cutlery before him reduced him to limp, sweating embarrassment.

     On the other hand, Rose thoroughly enjoyed herself. She did not appear to notice his silence, but talked gaily about the people, the band and the luxury of the place. She laughed heartily at the various cabaret turns and made Slug shuffle round the tiny dance-floor.

     It seemed to go on for ever. New, clean plates kept appearing before him, dishes holding food he could not name were offered to him. His glass seemed to fill itself, and he became more and more sour as he realized how completely out of touch he was with this world.

     In fact, when a tall, strikingly handsome man suddenly stopped at their table and asked Rose for a dance, he just sat there and watched them go away together. He was almost relieved to have a few minutes to himself.

     The head waiter glided up to him and asked him if everything was satisfactory. Slug knew he had done his best for him, and he grinned ruefully.

     “I guess this ain't quite my mark,” he said frankly, scratching his head. “Maybe some guys get a kick out of this, but to me it's just one big pain.” He glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly one o'clock. “I guess we'll blow,” he said. “Gimme the check before she comes back.”

     The head waiter bowed and put a folded slip of paper on a plate and then handed it to Slug. He took it and glanced at it indifferently. He knew the evening was going to be an expensive one, and he was too far gone to worry about how much it was going to cost. When he saw the neat, pencilled figures he sat up. “What the hell's this,” he asked—“a hundred and twenty-five bucks?”

     The head waiter bowed. “That is correct,” he said gently. “It is our usual charge.”

     Slug went cold from head to foot. Any moment Rose might come back. He pushed back his chair hurriedly and was about to stand up.

     “A moment, monsieur,” the head waiter said. “I'm afraid the amount embarrasses monsieur?”

     Slug blew out his cheeks. “You got somethin' there, pal,” he said. “I got a hundred bucks towards it. Hell! I didn't know this joint went in for daylight robbery.”

     “Monsieur is mistaken. We have never had any trouble before with our bills. Perhaps monsieur shouldn't have come.”

     Slug nodded miserably. “I guess you're right,” he said. “The dame wanted to come, so I just fell for it. What are you goin' to do—send for the cops?”

     The head waiter glanced round quickly, then he slid a twenty-five dollar note on to the plate. “Perhaps monsieur would accept a loan?” he suggested. “I have been in similar situations myself when young.”

     Slug gaped at him. “Gee!” he said at last. “Why, hell, that's white of you. You'll get it back, pal, you'll get it back all right.”

     The head waiter lifted his shoulders. “If monsieur will now settle his bill, I will call a taxi.”

     Slug hurriedly dropped the hundred dollars on the plate and stood up. He had exactly two dollars left in his pocket. “Sure,” he said, “I guess I won't be around here any more.”

     The head waiter bowed. “Monsieur would be a lot happier somewhere else, no doubt,” he said, and went away, holding the plate before him.

     The band had stopped playing and Rose was coming back to the table. The tall, handsome guy was laughing and talking with her. They looked very happy. However, as they approached he caught Slug's eye and decided that perhaps it would be wiser to retire, and with a few words to Rose he disappeared into the crowd that was surging back to their tables.

     Rose sat down. “I hope you didn't mind,” she said gaily; “he could dance. Isn't this a lovely evening? Is there any more champagne left?”

     Slug kept his temper under control with an effort. “We're goin' home now, honey,” he said. “Come on, let's scram.”

     “Home?” she said. “I don't want to go home. It's not late. Let's have another dance.”

     Slug stepped round to her and drew her upright. “I said we're beatin' it,” he said tensely; “c'm on.”