Ravenal continued thoughtfully on his way. Captain Andy was in the box office just off the little forward deck that served as an entrance to the show boat. With him was Magnolia—Magnolia minus her mother’s protecting wings. After all, even Parthy had not the power to be in more than one place at a time. At this moment she was deep in conversation with Flat Foot on the wharf.
Magnolia was evidently dressed for a festive occasion. The skirt of her light écru silk dress was a polonaise draped over a cream-white surah silk, and the front of the tight bodice-basque was of the same cream-white stuff. Her round hat of Milan straw, with its modishly high crown, had an artful brim that shaded her fine eyes, and this brim was faced with deep rose velvet, and a bow of deep rose flared high against the crown. The black of her hair was all the blacker for this vivid colour. An écru parasol and long suède gloves completed the costume. She might have stepped out of Harper’s Bazaar—in fact, she had. The dress was a faithful copy of a costume which she had considered particularly fetching as she pored over the pages of that book of fashion.
Andy was busy at his desk. Ranged in rows on that desk were canvas sacks, plump, squat; canvas sacks limp, lop-sided; canvas sacks which, when lifted and set down again, gave forth a pleasant clinking sound. Piled high in front of these were neat packets of green-backs, ones and ones and ones, in bundles of fifty, each bound with a tidy belt of white paper pinned about its middle. Forming a kind of Chinese wall around these were stacked half dollars, quarters, dimes, and nickels, with now and then a campanile of silver dollars. In the midst of this Andy resembled an amiable and highly solvent gnome stepped out of a Grimm’s fairy tale. The bayou trip had been a record-breaking one in point of profit.
“. . . And fifty’s six hundred and fifty,” Andy was crooning happily, as he jotted figures down on a sheet of yellow lined paper, “. . . and fifty’s seven hundred, and twenty-five’s seven hundred twenty-five and twenty-five’s . . .”
“Oh, Papa!” Magnolia exclaimed impatiently, and turned toward the little window through which one saw New Orleans lying so invitingly in the protecting arms of the levee. “It’s almost four, and you haven’t even changed your clothes, and you keep counting that old money, and Mama’s gone on some horrid business with that sneaky Frank. I know it’s horrid because she looked so pleased. And you promised me. We won’t see New Orleans again for a whole year. You said you’d get a carriage and two horses and we’d drive out to Lake Pontchartrain, and have dinner, and drive back, and go to the theatre, and now it’s almost four and you haven’t even changed your clothes and you keep counting that old money, and Mama’s——” After all, in certain ways, Magnolia the ingénue lead had not changed much from that child who had promptly had hysterics to gain her own ends that day in Thebes many years before.
“Minute,” Andy muttered, absently. “Can’t leave this money laying around like buttons, can I? Germania National’s letting me in the side door as a special favour after hours, as ’tis, just so’s I can deposit. . . . And fifty’s eight-fifty, and fifty’s nine . . .”
“I don’t care!” cried Magnolia, and stamped her foot. “It’s downright mean of you, Papa. You promised. And I’m all dressed. And you haven’t even changed your——”
“Oh, God A’mighty, Nollie, you ain’t going to turn out an unreasonable woman like your ma, are you! Here I sit, slaving away——”
“Oh! How beautiful you look!” exclaimed Magnolia now, to Andy’s bewilderment. He looked up at her. Her gaze was directed over his head at someone standing in the doorway. Andy creaked hastily around in the ancient swivel chair. Ravenal, of course, in the doorway. Andy pursed his lips in the sky-rocket whistle, starting high and ending low, expressive of surprise and admiration.
“How beautiful you look!” said Magnolia again; and clasped her hands like a child.