“In the presence of a lady I will take nothing,” he said impressively. “But pardon me, you seem to be almost at home here.”
The girl leaned her elbows on the bar and her chin in her hands, and answered with a tantalising little laugh:
“Who—me?”
After a loud guffaw Nick took it upon himself to explain matters; turning to Johnson he said:
“Why, she’s the Girl who runs The Polka!”
Johnson’s face wore a look of puzzled consternation; he saw no reason for levity.
“You...?”
“Yep,” nodded the Girl with a merry twinkle in her eyes.
Johnson’s face fell.
“She runs The Polka,” he murmured to himself. Of all places to have chosen—this! So the thing he had dreaded had happened!