“Let me see,” she temporized in a flutter, thinking of Baltimore and Nicky.
“If you’ve nothing special on, how about a tea-dance? I’m getting addicted to this.”
“I’m afraid I’m booked up for to-morrow,” she faltered. “Polly keeps the calendar. Yes, I know we have some stupid date––I can’t think just what. How about the day after?”
The deferment made his amorous heart sick, and to-morrow’s to-morrow seemed as remote as Judgment Day. Besides, as he explained:
“I’ve got to go back to the shipyard to-morrow evening. Couldn’t you give me a lunch––an early one at twelve-thirty?”
“Yes, I could do that. In fact, I’d love it!”
“And me too?”
“That would be telling.”
At this delicious moment an insolent cub in boots and spurs cut in and would not be denied. Davidge was tempted to use his fists, but Mamise, though she longed to tarry with Davidge, knew the value of tantalism, and consented to the abduction. For revenge Davidge took up with Polly and 261 danced after Mamise, to be near her. He followed so close that the disastrous cub, in a sudden pirouette, contrived to swipe Polly across the shin and ankle-bones with his spur.
She almost swooned of agony, and clung to Davidge for support, mixing astonishing profanity with her smothered groans. The cub showered apologies on her, and reviled “Regulations” which compelled him to wear spurs with his boots, though he had only a desk job.