“Sure; you ought to make a million dollars out of that!” said Myrtle, and, after a moment, she added, “Couldn’t you put a ring or two on my fingers—that hand of mine looks awful bare.”
“Flick’s got a couple of the Ready-Made magnates fighting for admission,” said Tootles, ignoring her criticism. “Soon as we land one, won’t we have a celebration though!”
Meanwhile, Millie Brewster had leaned over O’Leary and whispered:
“King, if this is her doings, I won’t have a thing to do with it—do you hear? I won’t take favors from her!”
“Thank you for nothing!” said O’Leary, assuming an offended air, while his hands descended upon a resounding chord in the bass. He managed to look so fearfully angry that the girl’s heart sank at once.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered contritely; “but I won’t be patronized by her.”
“I suppose I don’t count,” said O’Leary, who seized the strategic attitude. “Millie, I’m ashamed of you!”
But at the moment when the girl was humbly imploring him with her eyes to forgive her, a new bombshell was exploded by Myrtle’s emerging and saying:
“King, something I want to say to you—excuse me everybody!”
O’Leary shrugged his shoulders, arose, and followed her.