"Those, sir, are the windows of the apartment once occupied by Walter Pater," said the cultured American after whom he was trailing. Mr. Wrenn viewed them attentively, and with shame remembered that he didn't know who Walter Pater was. But oh yes, now he remembered; Walter was the guy that 'd murdered his whole family. So, aloud, "Well, I guess Oxford's sorry Walt ever come here, all right."
It was not till the choosing of partners for the next dance, when Tom Poppins stood up beside Nelly, their arms swaying a little, their feet tapping, that Mr. Wrenn quite got the fact that he could not dance. He had casually said to the others, a week before, that he knew only the square dances which, as a boy, he had learned at parties at Parthenon.
"Mouse dear, this is one of our best little indecent poets, Mr. Carson Haggerty. From America California too. Mr. Hag'ty, Mr. Wrenn." "Pleased meet you," said both men in the same tone of annoyance. Mr. Wrenn implored: "I uh I thought you might like to look at these magazines. Just dropped in to give them to you." He was ready to go. "Thank you so good of you. Please sit down.
He had carried his many and perspiring pounds over to Third Avenue because Miss Proudfoot reflected, "I've got a regular sweet tooth to-night." He stood before Istra and Mr. Wrenn theatrically holding out a bag of chocolate drops in one hand and peanut brittle in the other; and grandiloquently: "Which shall it be, your Highness?
Fifteen minutes later Mr. Wrenn felt that Tom was hoping he would lead a club. He played one, and the whole table said: "That's right. Fine!" On his shoulder he felt a light tap, and he blushed like a sunset as he peeped back at Nelly. Mr. Wrenn, the society light, was Our Mr. Wrenn of the Souvenir Company all this time.
There seemed to be fifty times five unapproachable and magnificent strangers from whom he wanted to flee. Wrenn." She returned to the front of the room and went on talking to a lank spinster about ruchings, but Mr. Wrenn felt that he had known her long and as intimately as it was possible to know so clever a young woman.
But as they were stamping through the rivulets of wheel-tracks that crisscrossed on a slushy street-crossing Mr. Wrenn regained his advantage by crying, "Say, don't you think that play 'd have been better if the promoter 'd had an awful grouch on the young miner and 'd had to crawfish when the miner saved him?" "Why, yes; it would!" Nelly glowed at him.
I don't get no chance to see any of 'em. Funny, ain't it? me barking for 'em like I was the grandmother of the guy that invented 'em, and not knowing whether the train robbery Now who stole my going-home shoes?... Why, I don't know whether the train did any robbing or not!" He slapped Mr. Wrenn on the back, and the sales clerk's heart bounded in comradeship.
Wrenn observed, "something simply slick about all these old quatrangleses," crossed by summering students in short flappy gowns. But he always returned to his exile's room, where he now began to hear the new voice of shapeless nameless Fear fear of all this alien world that didn't care whether he loved it or not.
Wrenn, of the Clarion, was either the coldest and deepest-dyed rogue in the world or a man entirely innocent! "How did you know that we had an airplane like yours?" asked John sharply. The fat man broke into renewed chuckles at this question, and it was a moment or two before he could find words.