Bob added to his factory and built a fair-sized chimney. Dreamily he wondered if it would realize jolly little chum’s idea of a chimney. He had to cut out all the social functions now for he was so tired when he got home he wanted only his dinner and his pipe and bed. Dad, however, stayed out late. He remarked once he thought he would learn to tango. Bob never knew though whether he carried out the idea or not.
The newspapers, a few months later, apprised Bob that Gee-gee had landed the grand duke. A snapshot revealed him imbibing from Gee-gee’s Cinderella slipper. Possibly the grand duke was enraged over the snap-shot. More likely, however, he didn’t care; he was so high up he could do anything and snap his fingers at the world. Bob permitted himself a little recreation; out of mild curiosity, he went to see Gee-gee. She now had a fair-sized part and was talked about. Incidentally, she had acquired a few additional wriggles.
His Vivacious Highness sat in a box and Gee-gee wriggled mostly for him. She hardly looked at the audience, but the audience didn’t act offended. It applauded. Gee-gee’s dream had come true. She was a star. And to her credit she reached out a helping hand to Gid-up. The latter now said more than “Send for the doctor.” She had eight lines—which was certainly getting on some. Bob, however, didn’t notice Dan or Clarence in the audience. They were probably billing and cooing at home now. Only grand dukes can afford to toy with Gee-gees. Bob didn’t stay to see and hear it all for a little of Gee-gee went a long way, and besides, he had to get up early. Dad though, who accompanied Bob, said he would stay right through.
Once on Fifth Avenue, Bob passed Miss Gerald; she was just getting out of her car. An awful temptation seized him to stop, but he managed to suppress it, for he had himself fairly in hand by this time. He saw they would almost meet, but there were many people and, in the press, he didn’t have to see her. So he didn’t. He felt sure she would cut him if he did. It was the first foolish thing he had done for some time; he realized that when he got away. But what was he to do? He objected to being cut, and by her, of all persons. He regretted the incident very much. It hurt his pride and, of course, he had earned her dislike.
Bob hied him factoryward and toiled mightily that day. It was work—work—though to what end? If he only knew! He had tried to tell himself that he was learning to forget, that he was becoming reconciled to the inevitable, but that quick glimpse he had caught of her from a distance, before he drifted by with the others, had set his pulses tingling. For a moment now Bob gave way to dreaming; the day was almost done. He sat with his head on his hand and his elbow on the desk. He had shown he was more than a dancing man. He would now have to fight an even harder battle. He would have to take her out of his heart and mind.
But he couldn’t do that. It was impossible, when his whole nature clamored for her. He yielded now to the dubious luxury of thinking of her. He hoped he wouldn’t see her again and then gradually he would win in that fight against nature—or do his best to. Yes; he must do his best; he must, he repeated to himself, closing a firm hand resolutely. Then he started and stared—at a vision standing before him.
“Why did you cut me to-day?”
CHAPTER XXIV—AT THE PORTALS
It was some time before Bob recovered sufficiently to answer. Fortunately they were alone in Bob’s private office. From below came the sound of hammers, but that and the dingy surroundings did not seem to disconcert her. She looked at Bob coldly, the violet eyes full of directness.
“I—well, I feared you would cut me,” stammered Bob. “Won’t—won’t you sit down?”