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Course, we all know Mirabelle in the Corrugated buildin', for she's been presidin' over the candy counter almost as long as the arcade shops have been open. She's what you might call an institution; like Apollo Mike, the elevator starter; or old Walrus Smith, the night watchman.
When a man is telling himself that a woman has made a fool of him in public, and that every one in the neighborhood is amused to watch him, he finds it peculiarly difficult to carry on a conversation with the woman. But Mr. Mix saw that Mirabelle was about to converse, and glowering at a drummer across the aisle, he beat her to it.
"Good grief!" said Mirabelle, faintly, and there was silence. Mr. Mix came to look over her shoulder. Police Issue Over 2800 Summonses to Golfers, Pick- nickers, Canoeists, Cyclists, Hikers and Motorists including Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Mix Special Meeting of Council Called This Morning Entire City Roused to Fight Blue-Law-Campaign: Mix Amendment Doomed: Ordinance 147 Sure to be Modified
"But Mirabelle! We're more than a mile from the station!" "We're going out to the vestibule, Theodore. I don't propose to get left." A moment ago, Mr.
For a second Mirabelle arches her plucked eyebrows and puckers her lips coy as if she was lettin' on to be shocked. Then she glances around cautious to see if the coast is clear, reaches out and pats Vincent tender on the cheek and whispers something in his ear.
At half past seven in the morning, Mirabelle was already at the breakfast table, and semi-audibly rating Mr. Mix for his slothfulness, when he came in with an odd knitting of his forehead and an unsteady compression of his mouth. To add to the effect, he placed his feet with studied clumsiness, and as he gave the Herald into Mirabelle's hands, he uttered a sound which annoyed her.
As he stepped forward, Mirabelle retreated. "You've got something of your own, though?" It wasn't an ordinary question, it was an agonized appeal. "Only a separate trust fund John set up for me before he died fifty thousand dollars I just get the interest sixty dollars a week." Mr. Mix sat down hard, and his breathing was laboured. "Great Jumping Jehosophat!" He wet his lips, repeatedly.
"No, I don't want anything except to be let alone.... Is the car out there?" "But John listen to me " He waved her off. "I listened to you the day Henry came home, Mirabelle. That's enough to last me quite some time. I ain't forgot a word you said not a word. Where's my hat?" He rushed past her, and out of the house, and left her gaping after him. Half an hour later, young Mr.
After I've just sympathized with the awful torture you must have gone through?... Tell me something; what's all this gossip I hear about you and Aunt Mirabelle? Somebody saw you buggy-riding last Sunday. Gay young dog!" Mr. Mix grew red. "Buggy-riding! Miss Starkweather was kind enough to take me out to the lake in her car." "That's buggy-riding," said Henry, affably.
And he's plungin' with all his war savings on wild cat stocks to make good. Oh, he's in a reg'lar trance, Vincent. So you see?" Mirabelle seems to see a good deal more than I was expectin' her to. Just now she's glancin' approvin' into one of the display mirrors and is pattin' down the hair puffs over her ears. "He is a dear boy," she remarks, more to the mirror than to me.
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