“Oh, no,” said Tootles, falling back on sarcasm as he felt himself crumbling weakly; “I came here expressly to beg you to refrain.”
“Now you’re cross,” said Pansy, quite delighted. “I suppose it’s them flowers.”
“What flowers?” said Tootles, looking around in surprise. He examined them and added: “Wired! Cheap stuff. Now, isn’t that just like a shyster lawyer!”
“Silly!” said Pansy, bursting into laughter. “How do ye know that ain’t for Belle?”
“Really?” said Tootles, beaming as though the sun had suddenly entered the room.
“Goose!”
“You’ve been mean enough to me,” said Tootles, taking her hand. “You might let up.”
“Do you really want me to come?” said Pansy, smiling all over.
“Want you? Why, you beautiful creature,” said Tootles, ecstatically, “come, and I’ll go before you with a dust-pan and dust the way! That’s how much I want you.”
These higher flights from Tootles always moved Pansy, who had a penchant for refined romance. She relented, and there was quite an important discussion as to whether Tootles did not, in fact, really believe that Myrtle Popper’s eyes were more unusual than hers, and favor the figure of Belle Shaler. All of which would have had an agreeable ending, had not Belle returned and let the cat out of the bag by asking Pansy if she might wear some of her chrysanthemums.