Daisy accepted the gage, and reached the stair-top one step ahead. The two followed a crowd of people through an arched double-doorway, and sat down at a little round table with metal underbody and two companionable, iron-spindled chairs. About them, the whole world, it seemed, was eating ice-cream or drinking colored compounds out of glasses through straws.
Through a door at the side of the ice-cream room, Daisy could see couples, on a long perspective of shining floor, whirling by in the conventional embrace of the dance. The thing got into her blood.
"Come on," she said, a moment or so later, as she hastily spooned up the last of her "sundae," "I'll give you the first dance, Mr. Man, if you take me out there."
"Now you got me," said the chauffeur, with a momentary sheepishness; "I don't dance. I'm a ballplayer." The speaker's tone, as he made this apology, would seem to indicate that the two were accomplishments impossible to find in one and the same person.
In the dancing-room, the chauffeur had a nod for everybody and from everybody. The girls, especially, tilted heads on one side, or glanced up at him through the coquettish corner of the eye, or jumped up out of seats and buttonholed him and danced up and down in front of him—just according as they were sly, or coquettish, or impulsive. Some glanced in an armed way at Daisy, who seemed to be drawing a good deal of attention from the "boys" as she entered. Miss Nixon and her escort had arrived at a moment when the musicians were taking an intermission; and, as the benches along the side of the dancing-hall were filled, there was ample opportunity for a few introductions.
"This," said the chauffeur, stopping and putting his arm around the waist of a mighty man with sandy hair and a neck so red—naturally red—that it was almost scarlet, "is Baby Jock. Jock, this is a friend of mine from out among the homesteads. She is pretty near dead with staying at home nights, and I want you to show her a good time. I got to go back to my run.... Be back at closin'-time, kid, to see if you've changed your mind about lettin' me take you home." With this, and a careless parting salute, the taxi-driver slipped out, leaving Daisy with her new friend, the red-necked Colossus.
"Well," said Baby Jock, curving his hand around his chin and looking largely down at her, "the Scots aye drifts thegither, heh?... Don't tell me ye're no Scot, now, after that, lassie."
Daisy gave her mouth a little twist in lieu of answering, being absorbed in the scene before her.
"Yon Jamie," said her companion—nudging her lightly this time, to attract her attention, "forgot to leave me the name, when he left the lass."
"Eh?" said Daisy, a little distantly.