“Sure you have. And you’re honored, Pat, by her coming to interview you. It won’t bother you any. I’ll stick right by and give her most of the dope myself. You know I’ve always done that.”
Pat looked his gratitude.
“And another thing, Pat: don’t forget you’ve got to put up with this interviewing. It’s part of your business. It’s big advertising, and it comes free. We can’t buy it. It interests people, draws the crowds, and it’s crowds that pile up the gate receipts.” He stopped and listened, then looked at his watch. “I think that’s her now. I’ll go and get her and bring her in. I’ll tip it off to her to cut it short, you know, and it won’t take long.” He turned in the doorway. “And be decent, Pat. Don’t shut up like a clam. Talk a bit to her when she asks you questions.”
Pat put the Sonnets on the table, took up a newspaper, and was apparently deep in its contents when the two entered the room and he stood up. The meeting was a mutual shock. When blue eyes met gray, it was almost as if the man and the woman shouted triumphantly to each other, as if each had found something sought and unexpected. But this was for the instant only. Each had anticipated in the other something so totally different that the next moment the clear cry of recognition gave way to confusion. As is the way of women, she was the first to achieve control, and she did it without having given any outward sign that she had ever lost it. She advanced most of the distance across the floor to meet Glendon. As for him, he scarcely knew how he stumbled through the introduction. Here was a woman, a WOMAN. He had not known that such a creature could exist. The few women he had noticed had never prefigured this. He wondered what Old Pat’s judgment would have been of her, if she was the sort he had recommended to hang on to with both his hands. He discovered that in some way he was holding her hand. He looked at it, curious and fascinated, marveling at its fragility.
She, on the other hand, had proceeded to obliterate the echoes of that first clear call. It had been a peculiar experience, that was all, this sudden out-rush of her toward this strange man. For was not he the abysmal brute of the prize-ring, the great, fighting, stupid bulk of a male animal who hammered up his fellow males of the same stupid order? She smiled at the way he continued to hold her hand.
“I’ll have it back, please, Mr. Glendon,” she said. “I … I really need it, you know.”
He looked at her blankly, followed her gaze to her imprisoned hand, and dropped it in a rush of awkwardness that sent the blood in a manifest blush to his face.
She noted the blush, and the thought came to her that he did not seem quite the uncouth brute she had pictured. She could not conceive of a brute blushing at anything. And also, she found herself pleased with the fact that he lacked the easy glibness to murmur an apology. But the way he devoured her with his eyes was disconcerting. He stared at her as if in a trance, while his cheeks flushed even more redly.
Stubener by this time had fetched a chair for her, and Glendon automatically sank down into his.
“He’s in fine shape, Miss Sangster, in fine shape,” the manager was saying. “That’s right, isn’t it, Pat? Never felt better in your life?”