"What—what about me?"
"I ain't got nothing saved up—not a dime. You tell your dame—you tell her we—we just understand each other. Huh? How's that? That's fair enough, ain't it?"
"Whatta you mean, Joe? You always say that; but please, Joe, please tell me what you mean?"
"Listen, kiddo. Say, listen to that trot they're playin', will you? Come on, sis; be a sport! To-morrow night we'll talk about anything your little heart desires. Come on, one round! Don't make me sore."
"Aw, no, Joe; I gotta go."
"One round, sweetness—see, I'll pay the check. See, two rounds round, and we'll light out for home. Look, they're all watchin' for us—two rounds, sweetness."
"One, you just said, Joe."
"One, then, little mouse."
They rose to the introductory titillation of violins; she slid into his embrace with a little fluid movement, and they slithered out on the shining floor. A light murmur like the rustle of birds' wings went after them, and couples leaned from their tables to watch the perfect syncopation of their steps. His slightly crepuscular eyes took on the sheen of mica; the color ran high in her face, and her lips parted.
"They sit up and take notice when we slide out, don't they, little one?"