Waddington only a few nights ago, and of the two I'm
not sure that he's not the worst. A man at his age ought to know his
mind. Special Scotch--there you are, Mr. Burton. Hope it will do you
good."
Burton drank his whiskey and soda as though he needed it. He was
suddenly pale, and his fingers were idle upon the keys of the
pianoforte. The girl looked at him curiously.
"Not quite yourself, are you?" she inquired. "Don't get chippy before
this evening. I don't think I'll give you anything else to drink. When
a gentleman takes me out, I like him to be at his best."
Burton came back. It was a long journey from the little corner of the
world into which his thoughts had strayed, to the ornate,
artificial-looking parlor, with the Turkey-carpet upon the floor and
framed advertisements upon the walls.
"I am sorry," he said. "I had forgotten. I can't take you out
to-night--I've got an engagement. How I shall keep it I don't know," he
went on, half reminiscently, "but I've got to."
The young woman looked at him with rising color. "Well, I declare!" she
exclaimed. "You're a nice one, you are! You come in for the first time
for Lord knows how long, you agree to take me out this evening, and
then, all of a sudden, back out of it! I've had enough of you, Mr.
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