"Some class, too. What?" I adds.
"If you mean that she dresses in excellent taste, I agree with you," says he. "Such absolute simplicity, and yet——" Peyton spreads out his hands eloquent. "Why can't all girls do that?" he asks. "It would be—er—such a saving. I've no doubt she makes them all herself."
"If she does," says I, "she must have put in a busy winter."
"Oh, I don't know," says Peyton. "They're all such simple little things. And then, you know—or possibly you don't—that Lucy—er—I mean Miss Vaughn, is a surprisingly capable young woman. Really. There's so much more to her than appears on the surface."
"Tut, tut, Peyton!" says I. "Ain't you gettin' in kind of deep?"
"Don't be absurd, Torchy," says he. "Just because I show a little natural interest in a charming young woman it doesn't follow that——"
"Look!" says I. "Someone's givin' you the come-on signal."
Course, it's Lucy Lee. She's changed to an afternoon costume, sort of an old blue effect with not a frill or a ruffle in sight but with everything toned in, from the spider-webby hat to the suede slippers. And all she has to do to bring Peyton alongside is to tilt her chin invitin'.
We only caught glimpses of 'em the whole afternoon. And that Sunday evenin' the porch swing worked overtime again. I know both Vee and me did a lot of yawnin' before they finally drifts in. I'd never seen Peyton quite so chirky. He even goes so far as to smoke a cigarette. And next mornin', as he leaves reluctant with me to catch the 8:03 express, he stops me at the gate to give me the hearty grip.
"I say, old man," says he husky, "I—I never can tell you how grateful I am for—for what you've done."