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When Stella Schump was adjusting her black sleevelets next morning, somewhat obviously oblivious of the optical department across the aisle, a blond, oiled head leaned out at her. "Mornin'. Goo-goo!" A flush that she could feel rush up and that would not be controlled threw her into a state of agitation that was almost abashing to behold. "Tee-hee!" "Believe me, Bettina, those are some goo-goos!"
When a strangely larger-eyed, strangely thinner, a whitened and somehow a tightened Stella Schump drew up, those ten days later, before the little old row with the little old iron balconies, there was already in the ridiculous patches of front yards a light-green powdering of grass, and from the doorbell of her own threshold there hung quite a little spray of roses, waxy white against a frond of fern and a fold of black.
Flint's coattails. "Leggo!" "Quit ouch e-e-e-e-e! That's right; give it to him! Cora go to it e-e-e-e-e " Lips lifted to belie a sinkage of heart, Miss Schump, left standing, backed finally, sinking down to one of the camp-chairs against the wall. The little glittering mustache had come out again, and, sitting there, her smile so insistently lifted, the pink pearls at her throat rose and fell.
There was an indeterminate moment of silence broken by the slim-skirted silhouette. "Where you goin'?" Straightening, Miss Schump could hear more. "No place. Where you goin'?" "I'm cold." "Buy you a drink?" In the shaft of arc-light Miss Schump could see the little face framed in the wan curls lift and crinkle the nose to smile. "Come on."
Miss Schump leaned forward in the lamplight, the myriad of tight little braids at angles, but her eyes widening to their astounding blueness. "Not your pink beads, Cora?" "You heard me the first time, didn't you? 'Pink' was what I said." "Ma!" "Now ain't that nice of Cora?" "Quick are you game?" "Why, yes Cora."
Her eyes they were the color of perfect June at that high-noon moment when the spinning of the humming-bird can be distilled to sound. Laura and Marguerite and Stella Schump had eyes as blue as Cleopatra's, and Sappho's and Medea's must have been green.
I bet your brother Ed would have liked me better if I'd have got out in the middle of the floor with him, like he wanted me to and like Gert did, to see who could blow the biggest bunch of suds off his stein. I never could be fresh with a fellow." "That's just the trouble, Mrs. Schump. Stella don't see the difference between what's fresh and what's just fun.
Cobb entered, quietly, almost furtively, hands wrapped muff fashion in a checked apron, sitting down softly on the first of the camp-chairs near the door. She had the dough look of the comfortable and the uncorseted fat, her chin adding a scallop as, watching, her smile grew. "It's great to watch the young ones," she said, finally. Miss Schump moved gratefully, oh, so gratefully, two chairs over.
Give 'er a sandwich. Open 'er up a bottle. Gee! you're a fine crowd of fish, you are!" There was a general readjustment of circle and scraping of chairs. Miss Schump, scarlet, drew up and in, Mr. Kinealy prying off a fluted top for her. "Have this one on me, Stella!" he cried. "Your guy bolted of stage fright; but I'm here, and don't you forget it!"
"Certainly," said Miss Schump, through aching tonsils. There was an encore, the raucous-throated morning-glory taking up where the ukulele had left off. Miss Schump sat on, the smile drawn more and more resolutely across her face. Occasionally, to indicate a state of social ease, she caught an enforced yawn with her hand. After a while Mrs.
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