"A doughnut is like a life-preserver," he explained, "because they're both sinkers."
The two gasped with laughter, Lulu placing a helpful hand on her left hip.
"Oh, Mr. Polly," she panted, "you're simply killin'!"
"Sim-ply kill-in'!" echoed Lilly.
They turned into the dance-hall. Lilly's nostrils widened; the pink flew into her cheeks.
"Oh, say!" she cried; "I'd rather dance than eat."
Mr. Polly excused himself and hastened away to find his friend. He returned with a dark young man, whose sartorial perfection left nothing to be desired. He had been dancing, and wiped about the edge of his tall collar with a purple-bordered silk handkerchief.
"Ladies," announced Mr. Polly, "I want to introduce you to the swellest dancer on the floor to-night—you may think I'm kiddin', but I'm not. Miss Tracy and Miss Harkins, this is my friend, Mr. George Sippy."
Mr. Sippy pirouetted on one tan oxford and cast his eyes upward. "I'm all fussed," he said; "but pleased to meet you, ladies."
The girls laughed again. Then they strolled toward the dance-hall, where the gentleman bought tickets. Dancing at the One Hundred and Fifteenth Street Hall was five cents the selection.