"About as interesting as a bill-of-lading," Aunt Charlotte had snapped.
Henry Kemp had laughed one of his hearty laughs so rare now. "What do you know about bills-of-lading, Aunt Charlotte?"
"Not a thing, Henry. I don't even rightly know what a bill-of-lading is. But it always sounded to me like about the dullest thing in the world."
Ben Gartz had escorted them to the very elevator and had said, with a final wave of the hand, just as they were descending, "Now that you've found the way, come often."
Charley and Lottie, looking at each other, had given way completely.
Just after dinner, on the evening of Beck Schaefer's wedding day, Ben Gartz telephoned. The telephone call had followed less than a minute after Lottie's rebellious thoughts about him. "I hope my thinking of him didn't do it," she said to herself as she answered the telephone.
Would she go driving? No, she didn't feel like it. Oh come on! Do you good. We'll drop in at the Midway. There's a new revue there that's a winner. She pleaded a headache. Then it's just what you need. Won't take no for an answer. She went.
She wore her white wash-satin skirt and the pink sports coat and her big hat and looked very well indeed. They drove to the Midway Gardens in Ben's new car. Ben, parking the car, knew the auto starter. "H'are you, Eddie." He knew the uniformed doorman. "H'are you, Jo." He knew the head waiter. "H'are you, Al. Got a nice table for me?"
"Always find a table for you, Mr. Gartz. Yes, Mr. Gartz." Ben surveyed the Gardens largely from the top of the terrace. They were worth surveying. Your Chicago South Side dweller bores you with details. "Look at that! Notice anything queer about this place?" he asks you.
You survey its chaste white beauty. "Queer? No, it's lovely——"