“You don’t act very friendly, do you?”
“Well, I don’t believe in acting as friendly as some people do.”
Laugh heartily and start to comb her hair tightly over her forehead.
“You know, you got pretty hair,” you say. She glances at it rather complacently in the mirror, and tips her head. Resume impulsively, “You know, this business is awfully hard on a man of my calibre.”
She is unsympathetic. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Nothing. I was just wondering if you were busy tonight.”
She giggles. “Who wants to know?”
“Ah, cut that out!” you cry, flicking the big duster on her neck. “I want to know. Who did you think?”
“I don’t know about tonight,” she muses.
“I’ve got a flivver. There ought to be a dance somewhere. I bet you’re a mighty good little dancer.”