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Updated: May 1, 2025
And Breede, of course, would cast the girl off penniless, as they always did, telling her never to darken his doors again. And he'd have to find a new job. Breede wouldn't think of keeping on the scoundrel who had lured his child away. Still, the flapper's mind was set on an early marriage, and, for this once, at least, he would let her have her own way. No good being brutal at the start.
He looked up to the far circle of light that ever diminished as he went down and down. "I don't believe in them either," said the flapper firmly. "They're perfectly no good." "I never did believe in 'em," he heard himself saying. And added with firmness equal to the flapper's, "Silly!" He was wondering if they would ever pull him to the surface again; if the rope would break.
Jack arrived rather late he looked pale and agitated; and, though he ate no supper, he drank raw brandy in such a manner as made Flapper's eyes wink: the poor fellow had but three bottles, and Jack bade fair to swallow them all. However, the West Indian generously remedied the evil, and producing a napoleon, we speedily got the change for it in the shape of four bottles of champagne.
One could read her look as one could not read the flapper's. It was outrageously languishing. "Flirts with every one, makes no difference who!" explained the flapper with a venomous sniff. Bean laughed uneasily. "She's my own dear sister, and I love her, but she's a perfect cat!" Bean made deprecating sounds with his lips.
Our supper was uproariously harmonious; Fips sung the good "Old English Gentleman;" Jack the "British Grenadiers;" and your humble servant, when called upon, sang that beautiful ditty, "When the Bloom is on the Rye," in a manner that drew tears from every eye, except Flapper's, who was asleep, and Jack's, who was singing the "Bay of Biscay O," at the same time.
I haven't wasted any time talking to her." She indicated the flapper, who still fixed the implacable look on Bean. "If she doesn't know at nineteen, she never would " "We've settled all that," said the flapper loftily. "Haven't we?" Bean nodded. All at once that look of the flapper's began to be intelligible. He could almost read it.
It was horribly open and conspicuous, he felt; still, getting out of a car like that and the flapper's little old rag was something that had to be looked at he was drunk with it. Following a waiter to a table he felt that the floor was not meeting his feet. They were seated! The shocking affair was on. The waiter inclined a deferential ear to the gentleman from the large and costly car.
He waited for them to emerge, but they had apparently settled to more of this high-handed talk. Then, like an icy wave to engulf him, came a name "Tommy Hollins." It came in the Demon's voice, indistinguishable words preceding it. And in the flapper's voice came "Tommy Hollins!" gently, caressingly, it seemed.
The waster disappeared. Bean heard the flapper's voice calling cheerily to him from above stairs. A footman disapprovingly ushered him to the midst of an immense drawing-room of most ponderous grandeur, and left him to perish. He sat on the edge of a chair and tried to clear his mind about this enormity he was going to commit. False pretenses! Nothing less. He was not a king at all.
Tube done, we'll take him out into space, leaving his mouth open, and very shortly he'll be as empty as a flapper's skull. Then we'll seal him up, flash him out, come back here, and start spilling our troubles into Brandon's shell-like ear!" "Wonderful, Steve! You do get an idea occasionally, don't you? But how do we get out there? Where is this Cantrell's Comet?"
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