Tyler broke the silence.
"Do you dance?"
"Me! Dance! Well, I've mixed with everything from hula dancers to geisha girls, not forgettin' the Barbary Coast in the old days, but—well, I ain't what you'd rightly call a dancer. Why you askin'?"
"Because I can't dance, either. But we'll just go up and see what it's like, anyway."
"See wot wot's like?"
Tyler took out his card again, patiently. "This dance we're going to."
They had reached the Michigan Avenue address given on the card, and Tyler stopped to look up at the great, brightly lighted building. Moran stopped too, but for a different reason. He was staring, open-mouthed, at Tyler Kamps.
"You mean t' say you thought I was goin'—"
He choked. "Oh, my Gawd!"
Tyler smiled at him, sweetly. "I'm kind of scared, too. But Monicker goes to these dances and he says they're right nice. And lots of—of pretty girls. Nice girls. I wouldn't go alone. But you—you're used to dancing, and parties and—girls."