“You needn’t be afraid of him!” the boy cried, stretching out his hand to her.
She stepped forward, and held it close, in both her own.
“It’s Mr. Gaylord,” Doodles hastened to explain. “He’s chauffeur for Mrs. Graham, that rich lady that lives over on Douglas Street. I’ve been tellin’ him about you. This is Miss Dolly Rose, Mr. Gaylord.”
The young man offered his rocker, which the girl gently declined, insisting that she had not time to sit down.
“Just a minute!” pleaded Doodles. “I want to tell you something right away—you’ll be so glad!—Mr. Gaylord is going to hear the real Caruso next week, and he’s going to take you! Isn’t that beautiful?”
Sparks of fun twinkled in the man’s eyes; but they vanished when he glanced at the face opposite. It was flashing with indignation. No dimples played about the clear-cut lips. He anticipated her words.
“Doodles is taking things a little for granted,” he said with gentle deference. “I should certainly consider it a privilege and an honor to be allowed to escort you to the opera house Wednesday evening; but let me say frankly that such a thought could scarcely have occurred to me except for our young friend’s suggestion, inasmuch as I hardly knew you by sight and had never heard your name.”
The girl unbent a bit, as the comicality of the situation pushed itself forward.
“Even then,” he went on, “I was not bold enough to expect that Doodles’s wish would come true, but now that we have been properly introduced I will say that I should honestly be very glad if you would go with me. It would add a great deal to the pleasure of my evening.”
Evidently the girl’s inclination and judgment were in struggle, and the latter was getting the other in hand.