“It must have been written for you, Sweetness. That’s what you are, Up to Snuff, eh, Queenie?” He leaned closer, and above his tall, narrow collar dull red flowed beneath the sallow, and his long white teeth and slick-brushed hair shone in the arc light. “Eh, Queenie?”
“I gotta go now, Charley. Hattie’s waiting home for me.” She attempted to pass him and to slip into the outgoing stream of the store, but with a hesitation that belied her. “I—I gotta go, Charley.”
He laughed, clapped his hat slightly askew on his polished hair and slid his arm into hers.
“Forget it! But I had you going—didn’t I, sister? Thought I’d forgot about to-night, didn’t you? and didn’t have the nerve to pipe up. Like fun I forgot!”
“I didn’t know, Charley; you not coming over all day and all. I thought maybe your friend didn’t give you the tickets like he promised.”
“Didn’t he? Look! See if he didn’t!”
He produced a square of pink cardboard from his waistcoat pocket and she read it, with a sudden lightness underlying her voice:
HIBERNIAN MASQUE AND HOP
Supper Wardrobe Free
Admit Gent and Lady Fifty Cents
“Oh, gee, Charley! And me such a sight in this old waist and all. I didn’t know there was supper too.”
“Sure! Hurry, Sweetness, and we’ll catch a Sixth Avenue car. We wanna get in on it while the tamales are hot.”