No great amount of enthusiasm was evinced at this. Nevertheless, it was a distinct declaration of peace; and, taking advantage of it, Johnson advanced toward the Girl, bowed low, and asked with elaborate formality:
“May I have the honour of a waltz?”
Flabbergasted and awed to silence by what they termed Johnson’s “style,” Happy and Handsome stood staring helplessly at one another; at length Happy broke out with:
“Say, Handsome, ain’t he got a purty action? An’ ornamental sort o’ cuss, ain’t he? But say, kind o’ presumin’ like, ain’t it, for a fellow breathin’ the obscurity o’ The Crossin’ to learn gents like us how to ketch the ladies pronto?”
“Which same,” allowed Handsome, “shorely’s a most painful, not to say humiliatin’ state o’ things.” And then to the Girl he whispered: “It’s up to you—make a holy show of ’im.”
The Girl laughed.
“Me waltz? Me?” she cried, answering Johnson at last. “Oh, I can’t waltz but I can polky.”
Once more Johnson bent his tall figure to the ground, and said:
“Then may I have the pleasure of the next polka?”
By this time Sonora had recovered from his astonishment. After giving vent to a grunt expressive of his contempt, he blurted out: