"You're some kid," he said, squeezing her arm as he led her to the seat at the side of the room, when the dance was done; "hey, waiter!" An attendant with a tray came over, lithely and quickly.
"Name your dope, Dimples," said Mr. Cluett.
"Anything," responded Daisy, answering with all her merry might to the name bestowed, as she beamed up into the dark face with its hard lines and continual smile, "anything that you think's good for me, Mr. Cluett."
"Nut sundae—twice," her companion directed, briefly, with a sidewise jerk of his head at the tray bearer, who bowed response as to a peer of the realm.
"Well, Sweetness," Nick Cluett said, a moment later, as they applied themselves to the refreshment, "how about it?"
"How about what?" Daisy's tone was ingenuous and her look demure.
"You know," said Mr. Cluett; "our little party?"
"I don't know," Daisy put her head on one side teasingly.
"That's what you said before," observed Mr. Cluett; "ain't you thought it over yet?"
Daisy tilted her head over to the other side, displaying a round line of cheek and one of the dimples to which Mr. Cluett had previously alluded.