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There was a curious pallor came over Miss Samstag's face, as if smeared there by a hand. "Asked you what?" "Alma, it don't mean I'm not true to your father as I was the day I buried him in that blizzard back there, but could you ask for a finer, steadier man than Louis Latz? It looks out of his face." "Mamma, you What are you saying?" "Alma?"
"Thu-thu," clucked Mr. Latz for want of a fitting retort. "Heigh-ho! I always say we have so little in common, me and Mrs. Gronauer. She revokes so in bridge, and I think it's terrible for a grandmother to blondine so red; but we've both been widows for almost eight years. Eight years," repeated Mrs. Samstag on a small scented sigh.
"Marry me, Carrie," he said, as if to prove that his stiff lips could repeat their incredible feat. With a woman's talent for them, her tears sprang. "Mr. Latz " "Louis," he interpolated, widely eloquent of eyebrow and posture. "You're proposing, Louis!" She explained rather than asked, and placed her hand to her heart so prettily that he wanted to crush it there with his kisses.
It's just what has kept me from asking you weeks ago, this getting it said. Carrie, will you?" "I'm a widow, Mr. Latz Louis " "Loo " "L Loo. With a grown daughter. Not one of those merry widows you read about." "That's me! A bachelor on top but a home-man underneath. Why, up to five years ago, Carrie, while the best little mother a man ever had was alive, I never had eyes for a woman or "
"Want to join us, Alma?" "O yes thank you, Louis." "But I thought you and Leo were " "No, no, I'd rather go with you and mama, Louis." Even her mother had smiled rather strainedly. Louis' invitation, politely uttered, had said so plainly: "Are we two never to be alone. Your mother and I?" Oh, there was no doubt that Louis Latz was in love and with all the delayed fervor of first youth.
His knees, widespread, taxed his knife-pressed gray trousers to their very last capacity, but he sat back in none the less evident comfort, building his fingers up into a little chapel. "Well, how's Mr. Latz this evening?" asked Mrs. Samstag, her smile encompassing the question. "If I was any better I couldn't stand it," relishing her smile and his reply.
Latz this evening?" asked Mrs. Samstag, her smile encompassing the question. "If I was any better I couldn't stand it" relishing her smile and his reply.
On this, one of a hundred such typical evenings in the Bon Ton lobby, Mr. Latz, sighing out a satisfaction of his inner man, sat himself down on a red velvet chair opposite Mrs. Samstag. His knees wide-spread, taxed his knife-pressed gray trousers to their very last capacity, but he sat back in none the less evident comfort, building his fingers up into a little chapel. "Well, how's Mr.
He was inordinately sensitive to these allusions, reddening and wanting to seem appropriate. "Poor little woman, you've had your share of trouble." "Share," she repeated, swallowing a gulp and pressing the line of her eyebrows as if her thoughts were sobbing. "I It's as I tell Alma, Mr. Latz, sometimes I think I've had three times my share. My one consolation is that I try to make the best of it.
"Mother and daughter, but which is which from the back, some of my friends put it," said Mrs. Samstag, not without a curve to her voice, then hastily: "But the best child, Mr. Latz. The best that ever lived. A regular little mother to me in my spells." "Nice girl, Alma." "It snowed so the day of my husband's funeral. Why, do you know that up to then I never had an attack of neuralgia in my life.
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