“I don’t believe I ever did much, really.”
“Well, you shall take me to your kind of a restaurant.”
“I don’t believe you’d care much for penny meat-pies.”
“Little meat-pies?”
“Um-huh.”
“Little crispy ones? With flaky covers?”
“Um-huh.”
“Why, course I would! And ha’p’ny tea? Lead me to it, O brave knight! And to a vaudeville.”
He found that this devoted attendant of theaters had never seen the beautiful Italians who pounce upon protesting zylophones with small clubs, or the side-splitting juggler’s assistant who breaks up piles and piles of plates. And as to the top hat that turns into an accordion and produces much melody, she was ecstatic.
At after-theater supper he talked of Theresa and South Beach, of Charley Carpenter and Morton—Morton—Morton.