He kissed her again so that her hat tilted backward, straining at its pins.
"Hope to die and lose my luck."
"My own preciousness!" she said, her eyes tear-glazed and yearning up into his.
"'Sh-h, Pussy; here comes Sol Sopinsky to hurry me on board. Funny the Pelz crowd don't show up. Quit it! Here they come! That's their car. Cut it—quick!"
With noiselessly thrown clutch, the Pelz limousine drew up between an aisle of bales, its door immediately flung open. First, Mr. Pelz emerging, with an immediate arm held back for Mrs. Pelz. Last, Miss Pelz, a delightful paradox of sheer summer silk and white-fox furs, her small face flushed and carefully powdered up about the eyes.
"There he is, dad! Over there with Norma and Uncle Sol!"
"Don't run so, Bleema; he'll come over to you."
But she was around and through the archipelago of baggage.
"Lester darling! There was a tie-up at Thirty-third Street. I thought I'd die! Here's a little package of letters, love, one for each day on the steamer. Lester, have you got everything—are you all ready to leave your girlie—Hello, Norma—Uncle Sol! Lester are you—you sorry to leave you—your—"
"Now, now—no water-works!"