“‘Oh Nelly was a lady,’” sang another. “Say, Brennen, here’s yer girl!”
“Gee!” exclaimed the person addressed. “And I told her I wasn’t comin’; she’s got me dead!”
The congregated youths grinned over their high collars and bowed after the fashion approved by Professor Whalen, teacher of the “Glide Waltz.” The girl flashed them a smile as she went by, a bunch of La France roses in her hand. But a cloud crossed her face, and she bit her lips at sight of young Brennen.
“Go on, please, Mr. Shimph,” requested she, of her escort. “I’ll folly you in a minute.”
“But, say Nell!” exclaimed Shimph, who had also caught sight of Brennen, “yous’re with me, ain’t ye?”
“Cert’n’y!” with a lofty air, “I don’t shake me friends that way.”
Re-assured, Shimph walked down the entry; Miss Fogarty beckoned with the roses, and Brennen, a little abashed, came to her.
“I thought,” said she, “that you couldn’t come to-night. What’s the matter?—didn’t ye want to take me?”
“Ah, say, Nell! What’s the use—”
“Who did ye come with? Was it Mary Haley?”