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Updated: May 24, 2025
"I said palm-reading, Arch, not hand-holding. Leave that part to Ed and Gert over there. Now quit squeezing " Mr. Sensenbrenner bent low, almost nose to her palm. "I see," he began, his voice widening to a drawl "I se-e a fellow about my size and complexion entering your life "
The Cobbs' door, "H," stood open, an epicene medley of voices and laughter floating down the long neck of hallway on the syncopated whine of a ukulele. There was an immediate parting of ways, Mr. Sensenbrenner hanging his cap on an already well-filled rack of pegs and making straight for the sound of revelry by night.
The ukulele was whanging again, and a couple or two, locked cheek to cheek, were undulating in a low-lidded kind of ecstasy. Finally, Cora Kinealy and Archie Sensenbrenner, rather uglily oblivious. A youth, frantic to outdistance a rival for the dancing-hand of Miss Gertie Cobb, stumbled across Miss Schump's carefully crossed ankles. "'Scuse," he said, without glancing back.
"Arch Sensenbrenner, if you don't stop pinching me! Honest, my arm's black and blue! Honest! What'll Stella think we are? Now cut it out!" They walked a block in silence, but, beside her, Miss Schump could feel them shaking to a duet of suppressed laughter, and the red in her face rose higher and a little mustache of the tiniest of perspiration beads came out over her lip.
"Sure." "Honest, if I wasn't already tagged and spoken for, I'd set my cap for him myself." "'Mother, mother, mother, pin a rose on me!" cried Mr. Sensenbrenner, with no great pertinence. Miss Kinealy threw him a northwest glance. "Ain't he the cut-up, Stella?" "He sure is." "Br-a-a-y!" said Mr. Sensenbrenner, again none too relevantly.
I tried once to, and she wouldn't take it." Miss Schump hooked a highly diffident hand into Mr. Sensenbrenner's sharply jutted elbow. "You two go on and talk together. I've chewed Arch's right ear off already." "It's a grand evenin' ain't it, Mr. Sensenbrenner?" At that from Miss Schump, Miss Kinealy executed a very soprano squeal that petered out in a titter of remonstrances.
Archie Sensenbrenner, bounded on the north by a checked, deep-visored cap; on the south by a very bulldogged and very tan pair of number nines; on the east by Miss Cora Kinealy, very much of the occasion in a peaked hood faced in eider-down and a gay silk bag of slippers dangling; on the west by Miss Stella Schump, a pink scarf entwining her head like a Tanagra.
The desire to turn back, the sudden ache for the quietude of the little halo of lamplight and the swollen finger-joints of her mother in and out at work, were almost not to be withstood. "I You you and Mr. Sensenbrenner go on, Cora. I me not knowin' Gertie Cobb and all I I feel I'm intruding. You and him go on. Please!" Miss Kinealy crossed to her, kindly at once and sobered.
You can't tell me there is not many a nice, sober young man wouldn't be glad to sit out a Saturday evening with her. She's that bashful she don't give 'em a chance. I tell her it's almost as much ruination to a girl to be too retiring as to be too forward. She don't seem to have a way with the boys. You, too, Cora, with a boy like Archie Sensenbrenner and your wedding-day in sight.
When I see other girls, most of 'em fresh little rag-timers that ain't worth powder and shot, bringing down the finest kind of fellows, and Stella never asked out or nothing, I always say to myself, 'I can't understand it. Take me what Arch Sensenbrenner ever seen in me, with Stella and her complexion working in the same department " "You got a way, Cora.
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