By the time he reached the barber’s shop he was feeling pleasantly tight, and had got fairly used to the collar and shirt which had threatened to strangle him. He found Brownrigg closing up, and he entered the shop with a swagger that was plainly to impress.
Brownrigg looked him over not without a certain admiration. “Say, Mr. Moynihan, you’re looking swell tonight,” he said, “that’s a grand suit you’ve got there.”
Slug flicked an invisible speck from the coat. “You think so?” he asked. “Well, boy, this suit cost plenty. It oughtta look good.” He glanced round the room. “Ain’t she here yet?”
Brownrigg jerked his head towards the manicure parlour. “She’s gettin’ ready,” he said with a wink. “Where are you takin’ her, Mr. Moynihan?”
Slug selected a cigar from a box on the counter. “The ‘Ambassadors’,” he said carelessly. “I like to take my dames to the right joints.”
Brownrigg whistled. “Say,” he said, “you certainly are goin’ places.” He hurriedly struck a match and lit Slug’s cigar.
Slug didn’t offer to pay for it, and Brownrigg, after a moment’s hesitation, decided to let it ride. Just then Rose came out from behind the curtained doorway and stood looking at Slug with a little smile.
Slug could hardly believe his eyes, she looked so beautiful. Her dress clung to her figure, revealing curves that he had suspected but was never quite sure were there. It was a bottle-green affair, tight in the bodice and round her neat hips and then flowed loosely to her feet. Her hair was dressed low to her shoulders, and her make-up was flawless, startling and provocative. He thought she looked like a high-class movie star.
“You look swell,” he said, and meant it.
She moved a little to the right and then to the left so that he could admire her more easily. “You like me?” she asked. “That’s fine. You don’t look such a tramp yourself, you know.”