“Up with me? Why, I’m all right,� said Mr. Lanter, “and I’ve had a real good time, thanks to you, old man!�
“Come, have a drink?� said the pacified Goter, and they turned in at the swing doors of a beer saloon. “Bully, wasn’t she?� he broke out, after ordering two iced bocks. “My style all over! Guess I’ve a good mind to take her on!� and he winked knowingly.
Mr. Lanter set down his tall glass of untasted Münchener. “Look here, who are you talking about?� He was salmon-pink to the edge of his black Derby hat, and his pale blue eyes had angry sparks in them.
“That girl that did the jugglin’ business on the plank-and-ladder,� responded Goter. “Black eyes, black hair, high color, and spankin’ action. Did you s’pose I meant that walkin’ grain-elevator in the tin armor? No, sir!�
He had yet another fulminating witticism on hand, and he discharged it. Before it had done crackling he saw stars, for the placable Lanter had suddenly smitten him upon the nose.
“Good thunder! what are you up to, anyway?� spluttered the astonished Mr. Goter.
“Hol’ off there! Go easy!� shouted the barkeeper. Half a dozen men, their drinks in their hands, their hats tilted back from interested faces, had gathered round, and a colored boy was mopping the red-stained marble table with a wet cloth.
“He—he insulted a lady!� gasped Mr. Lanter, “and I struck him! If he does it again—I’ll do it again!... Mind that!� The tone and the look with which he delivered the final warning convinced Mr. Goter that he had better mind.
Thenceforward he ceased to regard Mr. Lanter as a “Willie� and Mr. Lanter ceased to regard himself as a Christian young man. His own violence had shocked him. There must be a good deal of cold reason, he reflected, at the bottom of Mrs. Lanter’s inveterate prejudice against public places of entertainment, and his conscience pricked him. But she had made him promise that he would not go to “theaters,� and he salved his conscience by reminding himself that he had kept his word. But he went again and yet again to Kneeman’s Star Musée. And upon the third occasion he mustered up courage to speak to Miss Minota.
“How do you do?� he blurted out. Then as an afterthought he blurted out, “Mademoiselle.� He had to tilt his head quite back to look up into Miss Minota’s large fair moon-face. He wondered what she would say if anybody told her that she was his ideal of womanhood?