“Then I’m lucky,” he said.
“Don’t be smart.”
“When this dance’s over, will you have somethin’ to drink?”
She shook her head. “I don’t.”
“Well, come and watch me.”
She didn’t say anything, and the Jew grinned to himself. He was pretty experienced. This was going to be a push−over.
The band ceased abruptly, and he led her back to his table. They sat down together.
“I bet your Pa doesn’t know you’re out,” he said, offering her a cigarette.
She giggled. “How did you know? Pa hates me dancing. I sneak out once a week. Even Ma thinks I’m in bed.”
The Jew smiled. “You’re a bad girl. I ought to take you home.”