Dorothy Parker / Arrangement in Black and White

ARRANGEMENT IN BLACK AND WHITE

By Dorothy Parker

The woman with the pink velvet poppies twined round the assisted gold ofher hair traversed the crowded room at an interesting gait combining a skipwith a sidle, and clutched the lean arm of her host.

"Now I got you!", she said. "Now you can't get away!", 

"Why, hello," said her host. "Well. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm finely," she said. "Just simply finely. Listen. I want you to do me the most terrible favor. Will you? Will you please? Pretty please?"

"What is it?", said her host.

"Listen," she said. "I want to meet Walter Williams. Honestly, I'm just simplycrazy about that man. Oh, when he sings!
When he sings those spirituals! Well, I said to Burton, 'It's a good thing for you Walter Williams is colored,' Isaid, 'or you'd have lots of reason to be jealous.' I'd really love to meet him. I'dlike to tell him I've heard him sing. Will you be an angel and introduce me to him?"

"Why, certainly," said her host. "I thought you'd met him.
The party's for him. Where is he, anyway?"

"He's over there by the bookcase," she said. "Let's wait till those people getthrough talking to him. Well, I think you're simply marvelous, giving thisperfectly marvelous party for him, and having him meet all these whitepeople, and all.
Isn't he terribly grateful?"

"I hope not," said her host.

"I think it's really terribly nice," she said. "I do. I don't see why on earth it isn'tperfectly all right to meet colored people.
I haven't any feeling at all about itnot one single bit. Burton oh, he's just the other way. Well, you know, hecomes from Virginia, and you know how they are."

"Did he come tonight?", said her host.

"No, he couldn't," she said. "I'm a regular grass widow tonight. I told himwhen I left, 'There's no telling what I'll do,' I said. He was just so tired out, hecouldn't move. Isn't it a shame?"

"Ah," said her host.

"Wait till I tell him I met Walter Williams!", she said. "He'll just about die. Oh,we have more arguments about colored people. I talk to him like I don't knowwhat, I get so excited.
'Oh, don't be so silly,' I say. But I must say for Burton,he's a heap broader-minded than lots of these Southerners. He's reallyawfully fond of colored people. Well, he says himself, he wouldn't have whiteservants. And you know, he had this old colored nurse, this regular old niggermammy, and he just simply loves her. Why, every time he goes home, hegoes out in the kitchen to see her. He does, really, to this day. All he says is,he says he hasn't got a word to say against colored people as long as theykeep their place. He's always doing things for them, giving them clothes and Idon't know what all. The only thing he says, he says he wouldn't sit down atthe table with one for a million dollars. 'Oh,' I say to him, 'you make me sick,talking like that.' I'm just terrible to him.
Aren't I terrible?"

"Oh, no, no, no," said her host. "No, no."

"I am," she said. "I know I am. Poor Burton! Now, me, I don't feel that way a tall. I haven't the slightest feeling about colored people. Why, I'm just crazyabout some of them.
They're just like children, just as easy-going, and alwayssinging and laughing and everything. Aren't they the happiest things you eversaw in your life? Honestly, it makes me laugh just to hear them. Oh, I likethem. I really do.
Well, now, listen, I have this colored laundress, I've had herfor years, and I'm devoted to her. She's really a character.
And I want to tellyou, I think of her as my friend. That's the way I think of her. As I say to Burton, 'Well, for Heaven's sakes,we're all human beings!' Aren't we?"

"Yes," said her host. "Yes, indeed."

"Now this Walter Williams," she said. "I think a man like that's a real artist. I do. I think he deserves an awful lot of credit. Goodness, I'm so crazy aboutmusic or anything, I don't care what color he is. I honestly think if a person'san artist, nobody ought to have any feeling at all about meeting them. That's absolutely what I say to Burton. Don't you think I'm right?"

"Yes," said her host, "Oh, yes."

"That's the way I feel," she said. "I just can't understand people being narrow-minded.  Why, I absolutely think it's a privilege to meet a man like WalterWilliams. Yes, I do.
I haven't any feeling at all. Well, my goodness, the goodLord made him, just the same as He did any of us. Didn't He?"

"Surely," said her host. "Yes, indeed."

"That's what I say," she said. "Oh, I get so furious when people are narrow-minded about colored people. It's just all I can do not to say something. Ofcourse, I do admit when you get a bad colored man, they're simply terrible. But as I say to Burton, there are some bad white people, too, in this world. Aren't there?"

"I guess there are," said her host.

"Why, I'd really be glad to have a man like Walter Williams come to my houseand sing for us, some time," she said. "Of course, I couldn't ask him onaccount of Burton, but I wouldn't have any feeling about it at all. Oh, can't hesing!
Isn't it marvelous, the way they all have music in them?
It just seems tobe right in them. Come on, let's us go on over and talk to him. Listen, whatshall I do when I'm introduced?
Ought I to shake hands? Or what?"

"Why, do whatever you want," said her host.

"I guess maybe I'd better," she said. "I wouldn't for the world have him think I had any feeling. I think I'd better shake hands, just the way I would withanybody else. That's just exactly what I'll do."

They reached the tall young Negro, standing by the bookcase.
The hostperformed introductions; the Negro bowed.

"How do you do?", he  said.

The woman with the pink velvet poppies extended her hand at the length ofher arm and held it so for all the world to see, until the Negro took it, shook it,and gave it back to her.

"Oh, how do you do, Mr. Williams," she said. "Well how do you do. I've justbeen saying, I've enjoyed your singing so awfully much. I've been to yourconcerts, and we have you on the phonograph and everything. Oh, I just enjoy it!"

She spoke with great distinctness, moving her lips meticulously, as if inparlance with the deaf.

"I'm so glad," he said.

"I'm just simply crazy about that 'Water Boy' thing you sing," she said. "Honestly, I can't get it out of my head. I have my husband nearly crazy, theway I go around humming it all the time. Oh, he looks just as black as the ace of. . . Well. Tell me, where on earth do you ever get all those songs of yours?
How do you ever get hold of them?"

"Why," he said, "there are so many different . . ."

"I should think you'd love singing them," she said. "It must be more fun. All those darling old spirituals oh, I just love them!
Well, what are you doing,now? Are you still keeping up your singing? Why don't you have another concert, some time?"

"I'm having one the sixteenth of this month," he said. 

"Well, I'll be there," she said. "I'll be there, if I possibly can. You can count on me. Goodness, here comes a whole raft of people to talk to you. You're just aregular guest of honor!
Oh, who's that girl in white? I've seen her some place."

"That's Katherine Burke," said her host.

"Good Heavens." she said, "Is that Katherine Burke? Why, she looks entirelydifferent off the stage. I thought she was much better-looking. I had no ideashe was so terribly dark.
Why, she looks almost like . . . Oh, I think she's awonderful actress! Don't you think she's a wonderful actress, Mr. Williams? Oh, I think she's marvelous. Don't you?"

"Yes, I do," he said.

"Oh, I do, too," she said. "Just wonderful. Well, goodness, we must givesomeone else a chance to talk to the guest of honor.
Now, don't forget, Mr.Williams, I'm going to be at that concert if I possibly can. I'll be thereapplauding like everything. And if I can't come, I'm going to tell everybody Iknow to go, anyway. Don't you forget!"

"I won't," he said. "Thank you so much."

"Oh, my dear," she said. "I nearly died! Honestly, I give you my word, I nearlypassed away. Did you hear that terrible break I made? I was just going to sayKatherine Burke looked almost like a nigger. I just caught myself in time. Oh,do you think he noticed?"

"I don't believe so," said her host.

"Well, thank goodness," she said, "because I wouldn't have embarrassed himfor anything. Why, he's awfully nice. Just as nice as he can be. Nice manners,and everything. You know, so many colored people, you give them an inch,and they walk all over you. But he doesn't try any of that. Well, he's got moresense, I suppose. He's really nice. Don't you think so?"

"Yes," said her host.

"I liked him," she said. "I haven't any feeling at all because he's a colored man. I felt just as natural as I would with anybody. Talked to him just as naturally,and everything.
But honestly, I could hardly keep a straight face. I kept thinking of Burton. Oh, wait till I tell Burton I called him 'Mister'!"

The New Yorker

October 8, 1927

Dorothy Parker / Just a Little One

Dorothy Parker

JUST A LITTLE ONE 

Dorothy Parker / Sólo uno cortito

I like this place, Fred. This is a nice place. How did you ever find it? I think you’re perfectly marvellous, discovering a speakeasy up here in the Forties. And they let you right in, without asking you a single question. I bet you could get into the subway without using anybody’s name. Couldn’t you, Fred? 

Oh, I like this place better and better, now that my eyes are getting accustomed to it. You mustn’t let them tell you this lighting system is original with them, Fred; they got the idea from the Mammoth Cave. This is you sitting next to me, isn’t it? Oh, you can’t fool me. I’d know that voice anywhere. 

You know what I like about this place? It’s got atmosphere. That’s what it’s got. If you would ask the waiter to bring a fairly sharp knife, I could cut off a nice little block of the atmosphere, to take home with me. It would be interesting to have for my memory book. I’m going to start keeping a memory book tomorrow. Don’t let me forget. 

Why, I don’t know, Fred—what are you going to have? Then I guess I’ll have a highball, too; please, just a little one. Is it really real Scotch? Well, that will be a new experience for me. You ought to see the Scotch I’ve got home in my cupboard; at least it was in the cupboard this morning—it’s probably eaten its way out by now. I got it for my birthday. The only other thing I got was a year older. 

The person that gave me that Scotch must have heard some rumor that I was making a collection of lethal weapons. Would you care anything about hearing me use “lethal” in a sentence? Lethal little guy alone, you big bully. You don’t like it, Fred? I don’t know—I’m rather fond of that one. It’s got action, and at the same time the sentiment is nice. All right, Fred, it’s rotten. I wouldn’t argue with you for the world. 

This is a nice highball, isn’t it? Well, well, well, to think of me having real Scotch; I’m out of the bush leagues at last. Are you really going to have another one? Well, I shouldn’t like to see you drinking all by yourself, Fred. Solitary drinking is what causes half the crime in the country. That’s what’s responsible for the failure of prohibition. But please, Fred, tell him to make mine just a little one. Make it awfully weak; just cambric Scotch. 

It will be nice to see the effect of veritable whiskey upon one who has been accustomed only to the simpler forms of entertainment. You’ll like that, Fred. You’ll stay by me if anything happens, won’t you? I don’t think there will be anything spectacular, but I want to ask you one thing, just in case. Don’t let me take any horses home with me. It doesn’t matter so much about stray dogs and kittens, but elevator boys get awfully stuffy when you try to bring in a horse. You might just as well know that about me now, Fred. You can always tell that the crash is coming when I start getting tender about Our Dumb Friends. Three highballs, and I think I’m St. Francis of Assisi. 

But I don’t believe anything is going to happen to me on these. That’s because they’re made of real stuff. That’s what the difference is. This just makes you feel fine. Oh, I feel swell, Fred. You do too, don’t you? I knew you did, because you look so well. I never saw you look better. I love that tie you have on. Oh, did Edith give it to you? Ah, wasn’t that nice of her? You know, Fred, most people are really awfully nice. There are darn few that aren’t pretty fine at heart. You’ve got a peach of a heart, Fred. You’d be the first person I’d go to if I were in trouble. I guess you are just about the best friend I’ve got in the world. But I worry about you, Fred. I do so, too. I don’t think you take enough care of yourself. You ought to take care of yourself for your friends’ sake. You oughtn’t to drink all this terrible stuff that’s around; you owe it to your friends to be careful. You don’t mind my talking to you like this, do you? You see, dear, it’s because I’m your friend that I hate to see you not taking care of yourself. It hurts me to see you batting around the way you’ve been doing. You ought to stick to this place, where they have real Scotch that can’t do you any harm. Oh, darling, do you really think I ought to? Well, you tell him just a little bit of a one. Tell him, sweet. 

Do you come here often, Fred? I shouldn’t worry about you so much if I knew you were in a safe place like this. Oh, is this where you were Thursday night? I see. Why, no, it didn’t make a bit of difference, only you told me to call you up, and like a fool I broke a date I had to go to the theatre with a terribly attractive man because I thought I was going to see you. I just sort of naturally thought so, when you said to call you up. Oh, good Lord, don’t make all that fuss about it. It really didn’t make the slightest difference. It just didn’t seem a very friendly way to behave, that’s all. I don’t know—I’d been believing we were such good friends. I’m an awful idiot about people, Fred. There aren’t many who are really your friend at heart. Practically anybody would play you dirt for a nickel. Oh, yes, they would. 

Was Edith here with you, Thursday night? This place must be very becoming to her. Next to being in a coal mine, I can’t think of anywhere she could go that the light would be more flattering to that pan of hers. Do you really know a lot of people that say she’s good-looking? You must have a wide acquaintance among the astigmatic, haven’t you, Freddie, dear? Why, I’m not being any way at all—it’s simply one of those things, either you can see it or you can’t. Now to me, Edith looks like something that would eat her young. Dresses well? Edith dresses well? Are you trying to kid me, Fred, at my age? You mean you mean it? Oh, my God. You mean those clothes of hers are intentional? My heavens, I always thought she was on her way out of a burning building. 

Well, we live and learn. Edith dresses well! Edith’s got good taste! Yeah, she’s got sweet taste in neckties. I don’t suppose I ought to say it about such a dear friend of yours, Fred, but she is the lousiest necktie-picker-out I ever saw. I never saw anything could touch that thing you have around your neck. All right, suppose I did say I liked it. I just said that because I felt sorry for you. I’d feel sorry for anybody with a thing like that on. I just wanted to try to make you feel good, because I thought you were my friend. My friend! I haven’t got a friend in the world. Do you know that, Fred? Not one single friend in this world. 

All right, what do you care if I’m crying? I can cry if I want to, can’t I? I guess you’d cry, too, if you didn’t have a friend in the world. Is my face very bad? I suppose that damned mascaro has run all over it. I’ve got to give up using mascaro, Fred; life’s too sad. Isn’t life terrible? Oh, my God, isn’t life awful? Ah, don’t cry, Fred. Please don’t. Don’t you care, baby. Life’s terrible, but don’t you care. You’ve got friends. I’m the one that hasn’t got any friends. I am so. No, it’s me. I’m the one. 

I don’t think another drink would make me feel any better. I don’t know whether I want to feel any better. What’s the sense of feeling good, when life’s so terrible? Oh, all right, then. But please tell him just a little one, if it isn’t too much trouble. I don’t want to stay here much longer. I don’t like this place. It’s all dark and stuffy. It’s the kind of place Edith would be crazy about—that’s all I can say about this place. I know I oughtn’t to talk about your best friend, Fred, but that’s a terrible woman. That woman is the louse of this world. It makes me feel just awful that you trust that woman, Fred. I hate to see anybody play you dirt. I’d hate to see you get socked. That’s what makes me feel so terrible. That’s why I’m getting mascaro all over my face. No, please don’t, Fred. You mustn’t hold my hand. It wouldn’t be fair to Edith. We’ve got to play fair with the big louse. After all, she’s your best friend, isn’t she? 

Honestly? Do you honestly mean it, Fred? Yes, but how could I help thinking so, when you’re with her all the time—when you bring her here every night in the week? Really, only Thursday? Oh, I know—I know how those things are. You simply can’t help it, when you get stuck with a person that way. Lord, I’m glad you realize what an awful thing that woman is. I was worried about it, Fred. It’s because I’m your friend. Why, of course I am, darling. You know I am. Oh, that’s just silly, Freddie. You’ve got heaps of friends. Only you’ll never find a better friend than I am. No, I know that. I know I’ll never find a better friend than you are to me. Just give me back my hand a second, till I get this damned mascaro out of my eye. 

Yes, I think we ought to, honey. I think we ought to have a little drink, on account of our being friends. Just a little one, because it’s real Scotch, and we’re real friends. After all, friends are the greatest things in the world, aren’t they, Fred? Gee, it makes you feel good to know you have a friend. I feel great, don’t you, dear? And you look swell, too. I’m proud to have you for a friend. Do you realize, Fred, what a rare thing a friend is, when you think of all the terrible people there are in this world? Animals are much better than people. God, I love animals. That’s what I like about you, Fred. You’re so fond of animals. 

Look, I’ll tell you what let’s do, after we’ve had just a little highball. Let’s go out and pick up a lot of stray dogs. I never had enough dogs in my life, did you? We ought to have more dogs. And maybe there’d be some cats around, if we looked. And a horse. I’ve never had one single horse, Fred. Isn’t that rotten? Not one single horse. Gee, I’d like a nice old cab-horse, Fred. Wouldn’t you? I’d like to take care of it and comb its hair and everything. Ah, don’t be stuffy about it, Fred, please don’t. I need a horse, honestly I do. Wouldn’t you like one? It would be so sweet and kind. Let’s have a drink and then let’s you and I go out and get a horse, Freddie—just a little one, darling, just a little one.

The New Yorker

May 12, 1928

Dorothy Parker / New York to Detroit

NEW YORK TO DETROIT

by Dorothy Parker

"Already with Detroit," said the telephone operator.
"Hello," said the girl in New York.
"Hello?", said the young man in Detroit.
"Oh, Jack!", she said. "Oh, darling, it's so wonderful to hear you.You don'tknow how much I — "
"Hello?", he said.
"Ah, can't you hear me?"
she said. "Why, I can hear you just as if you wereright beside me. Is this any better, dear? Can you hear me now?"
"Who did you want to speak to?" he said.
"You, Jack!" she said. "You, you. This is Jean, darling. Oh, please try to hear me. This is Jean "
"Who?" he said.
"Jean," she said. "Ah, don't you know my voice? It's Jean, dear. Jean."
"Oh, hello there," he said. "Well. Well, for heaven’s sake. 
How are you?"
"I'm all right," she said. "Oh, I'm not, either, darling. I — oh, its just terrible. Ican’t stand it any more. Aren't you coming back? Please, when are you comingback! You don't know how awful it is, without you. It's been such a long time,dear — you said it would be just four or five days, and it s nearly three weeks. It's like years and years. Oh, its been so awful,  sweetheart — it's just — "
"Hey, I'm terribly sorry," he said, "but I can't hear one damn thing you'resaying. Can't you talk louder, or something?"
"I'll try, I'll try," she said. "Is this better? Now can you hear?"
"Yeah, now I can, a little," he said. "Don't talk so fast, will you? What did you say, before?"
"I said it's just awful without you," she said. "It's such a long time, dear. And Ihaven't had a word from you. I — oh, I've just been nearly crazy, Jack. Nevereven a postcard, dearest, or a — "
"Honestly, I haven't had a second," he said, "I've been working like a fool. God,I've been rushed."
"Ah, have you?" she said. "I'm sorry, dear. I've been silly.
But it was just — oh,it was just hell, never hearing a word.
I thought maybe you'd telephone to saygood night, sometimes, — you know, the way you used to, when you wereaway."
"Why, I was going to, a lot of times," he said, "but I thought you'd probably beout, or something."
"I haven't been out," she said. "I've been staying here, all by myself. It's — it'ssort of better, that way. I don't want to see people. Everybody says, 'When's Jack coming back?'
and 'What do you hear from Jack?' and I'm afraid I'll cry infront of them. Darling, it hurts so terribly when they ask me about you, and Ihave to say I don't — "
"This is the damnedest, lousiest connection I ever saw in my life," he said. "What hurts? What's the matter?"
"I said, it hurts so terribly when people ask me about you," she said, "and Ihave to say — Oh, never mind. Never mind.
How are you, dear? Tell me howyou are."

"Oh, pretty good," he said. "Tired as the devil. You all right?"
"Jack, I — that's what I wanted to tell you," she said. "I'm terribly worried. I'mnearly out of my mind. Oh, what will I do, dear, what are we going to do? Oh, Jack, Jack, darling!"
"Hey, how can I hear you when you mumble like that?" he said. "Can't you talklouder? Talk right into the what-you-call-it."
"I can’t scream it over the telephone!" she said. "Haven’t you any sense? Don'tyou know what I’m telling you? Don't you know? Don't you know?"
"I give up," he said. "First you mumble, and then you yell.
Look this doesn'tmake sense. I can’t hear anything, with this rotten connection. Why don't youwrite me a letter, in the morning? Do that, why don't you? And I'll write you one.
See?"
"Jack, listen, listen!" she said.
"You listen to me! I've got to talk to you. I tell youI'm nearly crazy. Please, dearest, hear what I'm saying. Jack, I — "
"Just a minute," he said. "Someone's knocking at the door.
Come in. Well, forcryin' out loud! Come on in, bums. Hang your coats up on the floor, and sitdown. The Scotch is in the closet, and there's ice in that pitcher. Makeyourselves at home — act like you were in a regular bar. Be with you rightaway. Hey, listen, there's a lot of crazy Indians just come in here, and I can'thear myself think. You go ahead and write me a letter tomorrow. Will you?"
"Write you a letter!" she said. "Oh, God, don't you think I'd have written you before, if I'd known where to reach you?
I didn't even know that, till they toldme at your office today.
I got so — "
"Oh, yeah, did they?" he said. "I thought I —  Ah, pipe down, will you? Give aguy a chance. This is an expensive talk going on here. Say, look, this must becosting you a million dollars.
You oughtn't to do this."
"What do you think I care about that?"  she said. "I'll die if I don't talk to you. I tell you I'll die, Jack. Sweetheart, what is it? Don't you want to talk to me?  Tell me what makes you this way. Is it — don't you really like me any more? Is thatit?
Don't you, Jack?"
"Hell, I can't hear," he said. "Don't what?"
"Please," she said. "Please, please. Please, Jack, listen.
When are you comingback, darling? I need you so.
I need you so terribly. When are you coming back?"
"Why, that's the thing," he said. "That's what I was going to write you about tomorrow. Come on, now, how about shutting up just a minute? A joke's a joke. Hello... Hear me all right? Why, you see, the way things came out today, itlooks a little bit like I’d have to go on to Chicago for a while.
Looks like a prettybig thing, and it won’t mean a very long time? I don’t believe. Looks as if I’d begoing out there next week, I guess."
"Jack, no!" she said. "Oh, don't do that! You can't do hat. You can’t leave mealone like this. I've got to see you, dearest.
I've got to. You've got to comeback, or I've got to come there to you.  I can’t go through this. Jack, I can't, I — "
"Look, we better say good-night now," he said, "No use trying to make outwhat you say, when you talk all over yourself like that. And there's so much racket here — Hey, can the harmony, will you!  God, it's terrible. Want me tobe thrown out of here! You go get a good night's sleep, and I'll write you all about it tomorrow."
"Listen!" she said. "Jack, don't go 'way! Help me, darling.
Say something to help me through tonight. Say you love me, for God's sake say you still love me. Say it. Say it."
"Ah, I can't talk," he said. "This is fierce. I'll write you first thing in the morning. Bye. Thanks for calling up."
"Jack!" she said. "Jack, don't go. Jack, wait a minute. I've got to talk to you. I'll talk quietly. I won't cry. I'll talk so you can hear me.  Please, dear, please — "
"All through with Detroit?", said the operator.
"No!" she said. "No, no, no! Get him," get him back again right away! Get himback. No, never mind. Never mind it now.
Never — "


Vanity Fair, October 1928.

Dorothy Parker / You Were Perfectly Fine

You Were Perfectly Fine

by Dorothy Parker

Dorothy Parker / Estuviste perfectamente bien (De otros mundos)

The pale young man eased himself carefully into the low chair, and rolled his head to the side, so that the cool chintz comforted his cheek and temple.

“Oh, dear,” he said.”Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear. Oh.”

The clear-eyed girl, sitting light and erect on the couch, smiled brightly at him.

“Not feeling so well today?” she said.

“Oh, I’m great,” he said.”Corking, I am. Know what time I got up? Four o’clock this afternoon, sharp. I kept trying to make it, and every time I took my head off the pillow, it would roll under the bed. This isn’t my head I’ve got on now. I think this is something that used to belong to Walt Whitman. Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.”

“Do you think maybe a drink would make you feel better?” she said.

“The hair of the mastiff that bit me?” he said.”Oh, no, thank you. Please never speak of anything like that again. I’m through. I’m all, all through. Look at that hand; steady as a humming-bird. Tell me, was I very terrible last night?”

“Oh, goodness,” she said, “everybody was feeling pretty high. You were all right.”

“Yeah,” he said.”I must have been dandy. Is everybody sore at me?”

“Good heavens, no,” she said.”Everybody thought you were terribly funny. Of course, Jim Pierson was a little stuffy, there, for a minute at dinner. But people sort of held him back in his chair, and got him calmed down. I don’t think anybody at the other tables noticed it at all. Hardly anybody.”

“He was going to sock me?” he said.”Oh, Lord. What did I do to him?”

“Why, you didn’t do a thing,” she said.”You were perfectly fine. But you know how silly Jim gets, when he thinks anybody is making too much fuss over Elinor.”

“Was I making a pass at Elinor?” he said, “Did I do that?”

“Of course you didn’t.” she said.”You were only fooling that’s all. She thought you were awfully amusing. She was having a marvelous time. She only got a little tiny bit annoyed just once, when you poured the clam-juice down her back.”

“My God,” he said.”Clam-juice down that back. And every vertebra a little Cabot. Dear God. What’ll I ever do?”

“Oh, she’ll be all right,” she said.”Just send her some flowers, or something. Don’t worry about it. It isn’t anything.”

“No I won’t worry,” he said.”I haven’t got a care in the world. I’m sitting pretty. Oh, dear, oh, dear. Did I do any other fascinating tricks at dinner?”

“You were fine,” she said.”Don’t be so foolish about it. Everybody was crazy about you. The maître d’hôtel was a little worried because you wouldn’t stop singing, but he really didn’t mind. All he said was, he was afraid they’d close the place again, if there was so much noise. But he didn’t care a bit, himself. I think he loved seeing you have such a good time. Oh, you were just singing away, there, for about an hour. It wasn’t so terribly loud, at all.”

“So I sang,” he said.”That must have been a treat. I sang.”

“Don’t you remember?” she said.”You just sang one song after another. Everybody in the place was listening. They loved it. Only you kept insisting that you wanted to sing some song about some kind of fusiliers or other, and everybody kept shushing you, and you’d keep trying to start it again. You were wonderful. We were all trying to make you stop singing for a minute, and eat something, but you wouldn’t hear of it. My, you were funny.”

“Didn’t I eat any dinner?” he said.

“Oh, not a thing,” she said.”Every time the waiter would offer you something, you’d give it right back to him, because you said that he was your long-lost brother, changed in the cradle by a gypsy band, and that everything you had was his. You had him simply roaring at you.”

“I bet I did,” he said, “I bet I was comical. Society’s Pet, I must have been. And what happened then, after my overwhelming success with the waiter?”

“Why, nothing much,” she said.”You took a sort of dislike to some old man with white hair, sitting across the room, because you didn’t like his necktie and you wanted to tell him about it. But we got you out, before he got really mad.”

“Oh, we got out,” he said.”Did I walk?”

“Walk! Of course you did,” she said.”You were absolutely all right. There was that nasty stretch of ice on the sidewalk, and you did sit down awfully hard, you poor dear. But good heavens, that might have happened to anybody.”

“Oh, sure,” he said.”Louisa Alcott or anybody. So I fell down on sidewalk. That would explain what’s the matter with my—Yes. I see. And then what, if you don’t mind?”

“Ah, now, Peter!” she said.”You can’t sit there and say you don’t remember what happened after that! I did think that maybe you were a little tight at dinner—oh, you were perfectly all right, and all that, but I did know you were feeling pretty gay. But you were so serious, from the time you fell down—I never knew you to be that way. Don’t you know how you told me I had never seen your real self before? Oh, Peter, I just couldn’t bear it, if you didn’t remember that lovely long ride we took together in the taxi! Please, you do remember that, don’t you? I think it would simply kill me, if you didn’t.”

“Oh, yes,” he said.”Riding in the taxi. Oh, yes, sure. Pretty long ride, hmm?”

“Round and round and round the park,” she said.”Oh, and the trees were shining so in the moonlight. And you said you never knew before that you really had a soul.”

“Yes,” he said.”I said that. That was me.”

“You said such lovely, lovely things,” she said.”And I’d never known, all this time, how you had been feeling about me, and I’d never dared to let you see how I felt about you. And then last night—oh, Peter dear, think that taxi ride was the most important thing that ever happened to us in our lives.”

“Yes,” he said.”I guess it must have been.”

“And we’re going to be so happy,” she said.”Oh, I just want to tell everybody! But I don’t know—I think maybe it would be sweeter to keep it all to ourselves.”

“I think it would be,” he said.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she said.

“Yes,” he said.”Great.”

“Lovely!” she said.

“Look here,” he said, “do you mind if I have a drink? I mean, just medicinally, you know. I’m off the stuff for life, so help me. But I think I feel a collapse coming on.”

“Oh, I think it would do you good,” she said.”You poor boy, it’s a shame you feel so awful. I’ll go make you a whisky and soda.”

“Honestly,” he said, “I don’t see how you could ever want to speak to me again, after I made such a fool of myself, last night. I think I’d better go join a monastery in Tibet.”

“You crazy idiot!” she said.”As if I could ever let you go away now! Stop talking like that. You were perfectly fine.”

She jumped up from the couch, kissed him quickly on the forehead, and ran out of the room.

The pale young man looked after her and shook his head long and slowly, then dropped it in his damp and trembling hands.

“Oh, dear,” he said.”Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.”