He seems to be enjoyin' the monologue; so I don't break in, but just stands there while he gazes at the picture and holds forth enthusiastic. Even after he's finished he still sits there starin'.
"Gee!" says I. "It ain't a hopeless case, is it, Mr. Robert?"
Which brings him out of his spell. He shrugs his shoulders, indulges in an unconvincin' little laugh, snaps the case shut, and then tosses it careless down onto the table.
"Perhaps you failed to notice the dust," says he. "The back part of the bottom drawer is where that belongs, Torchy—or in the waste basket. It's quite hopeless, you see."
"Huh!" says I as I turns to go. And this time I meant to get it across to him.
Honest, I couldn't figure why a headliner like Mr. Robert, with all his good bank ratin', good fam'ly, and good looks to back him, should get the gate on any kind of a matrimonial proposition, unless it was a case of coppin' a Princess of royal blood, and even then I'd back him to show in the runnin'. Who was this finicky party with the willow-ware eyes, anyway? Queen of what? Or was it wings she was demandin'?
"HE SEEMS TO BE ENJOYING THE MONOLOGUE; SO I JUST STANDS THERE WHILE HE GAZES AT THE PICTURE AND HOLDS FORTH ENTHUSIASTIC."
Say, I most got peeved with this unknown that had ditched Mr. Robert so hard. All that evenin' I mulls over it, wonderin' how long ago it had happened and if that accounted for him bein' so cagy in makin' social dates. Not that he's what you'd call skirt-shy exactly; but I've noticed that he's always cautious about bein' backed into a corner or paired off with any special one.