Also I suspect the Tortonis' dancin' act jarred her a bit. You've seen 'em do the shimmy-plus?
"Well!" says she, drawin' in a long breath and lookin' the other way. "So that is an example of modern dancing, is it?"
"It's the kind of stunt the tired business man has to have before he gets bright in the eyes again," says I. "But wait until we get to the Follies if you want to see him really begin to live."
We had to kill a couple of hours between times so we took in the last half of the latest bedroom farce and I think that got a rise or two out of Bonnie. I gathered from her remarks that Lillian Russell or Edna Wallace Hopper never went quite that far in her day.
"It's pajamas or nothing now," says I.
"And occasionally," she adds, "I suppose it is—Well, I trust not, at least."
After the Follies she hadn't a word to say. Only, as I landed her back at her hotel, along about 2:30 a.m., she slumps into a big chair in the Egyptian room and lets her chin sag.
"It's no use, Torchy," says she. "I—I couldn't."
"Eh?" says I.
"End my days to jazz time," says she. "No. I shall go back to my quiet hills and my calm-eyed Holsteins. And I shall go entirely contented. I can't tell you either, how thankful I am that it was you who showed me my mistake instead of my dear old friend. You've been so good about it, too."