"Huh?" she repeated, cocking her head.
"You got to know it, Mae, and the sooner I get it out of me the better. But, remember, if you wanna drive me out before I'm finished, if you wanna get rid of me a damn sight quicker than any other way, throw me some sob stuff and watch. You—Well—I—The sooner I get it out of me the better, Mae."
"Huh?"
"She's a—a nice little thing, Mae. Her mother's a crony with my old lady. Lives in a brownstone out on Lenox Avenue. Met her first at—at a tennis-match she was winning at—at Forest Park Club."
"Huh?"
"Not a high-stepper or a looker like you in your day, Mae, none of—that chorus pep you used to have. Neat, though. Great little kid for outdoors. Nice little shape, too. Not in your class, but—but neat. Eyes like yours, Mae, only not—not in your class. A—a little cast in one of them, but all to the good, Mae. Nice clean little—girl, fifteen thou with her, and her old man half owner in the Weeko Woolen Mills. I—I need the money, Mae. The customs is digging up dirt again. It ain't like I 'ain't been on the level with you, girl. You knew it had to come sooner or later. Now, didn't you, Mae? Now there's the girl. Didn't you?"
Reassured, he crossed to where she sat silent, and placed a large, heavy hand on her shoulder.
"There's nothing needs to worry you, old girl. Thirty-five hundred in your jeans and a couple of thou and the flat from me on top. Gad! it's a cinch for you, old girl. I've seen 'em ready for the dump at your age, and you—you're on the boom yet. Gad! you're the only one I ever knew kept her looks and took on weight at the same time. You're all right, Mae, and—and, gad! if I don't wish sometimes the world was different! Gad! if—if I don't!"
And, rather reassured, he tilted her chin and pinched her cold cheek and touched the corner of his eyes with the back of his wrist."
"Gad, if—if I don't!"