16 - At the Flower Garden. The Adventures of Sally by P. G. Wodehouse.

16 - At the Flower Garden. The Adventures of Sally by P. G. Wodehouse.  
This romantic comedy stars a young American girl named Sally, who inherits a considerable fortune and finds her life turned upside down. The typically Wodehouseian cast includes Sally's ambitious brother, an assortment of theater people, a pair of English cousins, and, of course, an Uncle. It's jolly good fun! 

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter sixteen of the Adventures of Sallie. This is a
LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
The Adventures of Sallie by P. G. Woodhouse, Chapter sixteen.
At the Flower Garden. One and after all I've done

(00:25):
for her, said mister Reginald Kracknell, his voice tremulous with
self pity and his eyes moist with the combined effects
of anguish and overindulgence in his celebrated private stock. After
all I've done for her, she throws me down. Sallie
did not reply. The orchestra of the Flower Garden was

(00:47):
of a caliber that discouraged vocal competition, and she was
having moreover too much difficulty in adjusting her feet to
mister Kracknell's erratic dance steps. To employ her attention elsewhere,
they maneuvered jerkily past the table where Miss Mabel Hobson,
the Flower Garden's newest hostess, sat, watching the revels with

(01:09):
a distant auteur. Miss Hobson was looking her most regal
in old gold and black, and a sorrowful gulp escaped
the stricken mister Cracknell as he shambled beneath her eye.
If I told you, he moaned in Sallie's ear, what
was that your ankle? Sorry, don't know what I'm doing tonight.

(01:29):
If I told you what I had spent on that woman,
you wouldn't believe it. And then she throws me down
and all because I said I didn't like her in
that hat. She hasn't spoken to me for a week
and won't answer when I call up on the phone.
And I was right too, it was a rotten hat.
Didn't suit her a bit. But that said, mister Cracknell
morosely is a woman all over. Sallie uttered a stifled

(01:54):
exclamation as his wandering foot descended on hers before she
could get it out of the way. Mister Cracknell interpreted
the ejaculation as a protest against the sweeping harshness of
his last remark, and gallantly tried to make amends. I
don't mean you're like that, he said, You're different. I
could see that directly. I saw you. You have a

(02:16):
sympathetic nature. That's why I'm telling you all this. You're
a sensible and broad minded girl and can understand I've
done everything for that woman. I got her this job
as host is here. You wouldn't believe what they pay her.
I starred her in a show once. Did you see
those pearls she was wearing? I gave her those and
she won't speak to me, just because I didn't like

(02:39):
her hat. I wish you could have seen that hat.
You would agree with me, I know, because you're a sensible,
broad minded girl and understand hats. I don't know what
to do. I come here every night. Sallie was aware
of this. She had seen him often, but this was
the first time that Lee she Einstein, the gentlemanly master
of ceremonies, had inflicted him on her. I come here

(03:01):
every night and dance past her table, but she won't
look at me. What, asked mister Cracknell, tears welling in
his pale eyes. Would you do about it? I don't know,
said Sallie frankly. Nor do I. I thought you wouldn't
because you're a sensible, broad minded I mean, nor do I.

(03:23):
I'm having one last try to night. If you can
keep a secret, you won't tell anyone, will you, pleaded
mister Cracknell urgently. But I know you won't because you're
a sensible I'm giving her a little present, having brought
it here to night, little present that ought to soften her.
Don't you think a big one would do it better?

(03:44):
Mister Cracknell kicked her on the shin in a dismayed
sort of way. I never thought of that. Perhaps you're right,
but it's too late now. Still it might or wouldn't it?
Which do you think? Yes, said Sallie. I thought it much,
said mister Cracknell. The orchestra stopped with a thump and

(04:05):
a bang, leaving mister Cracknell clapping feebly in the middle
of the floor. Sallie slipped back to her table. Her
late partner, after an uncertain glance about him, as if
he had mislaid something but could not remember what, zig
zagged off in search of his own seat. The noise
of many conversations drowned by the music, broke out with

(04:26):
renewed vigor. The hot, close air was full of voices,
and Sallie, pressing her hands on her closed eyes, was
reminded once more that she had a headache. Nearly a
month had passed since her return to mister Abraham's employment.
It had been a dull, leaden month, a monotonous succession

(04:47):
of lifeless days during which life had become a bad
dream in some strange nightmare fashion. She seemed now a
days to be cut off from her kind. It was
weeks since she had seen a familiar None of the
companions of her old boarding house days had crossed her path. Fillmore,
no doubt from uneasiness of conscience had not sought her out,

(05:10):
and Ginger was working out his destiny on the south
shore of Long Island. She lowered her hands and opened
her eyes and looked at the room. It was crowded
as always. The Flower Garden was one of the many
establishments of the same kind which had swum to popularity
on the rising flood of New York's dancing craze, and
doubtless because, as its proprietor had claimed, it was a

(05:34):
nice place and run nice, it had continued, unlike many
of its rivals, to enjoy unvarying prosperity. In its advertisement,
it described itself as a supper club for after theater,
dining and dancing, adding that large and spacious and sumptuously appointed,
it was one of the town's wonder places. With its

(05:57):
incomparable dance floor and chanting muse, music, cuisine, and service
de luxe from which it may be gathered, even without
his personal statements to that effect, that Isidore Abraham's thought
well of the place. There had been a time when
Salie had liked it too. In her first period of

(06:17):
employment there, she had found it diverting, stimulating, and full
of entertainment. But in those days she had never had headaches,
or what was worse, this dreadful, listless depression, which weighed
her down and made her nightly work a burden. Miss Nicholas,
the orchestra, never silent for long. At the Flower Garden

(06:39):
had started again and leave Shunstein, the master of ceremonies,
was presenting a new partner. She got up mechanically. This
is the first time I have been in this place,
said the man, as they bumped over the crowded floor.
He was big and clumsy, of course, to night it
seemed to Sallie that the whole world was big and clumsy.

(07:00):
It's a swell place. I come from up state myself.
We got nothing like this where I come from. He
cleared a space before him, using Sallie as a battering
ram and Sallie, though she had not enjoyed her recent
excursion with mister Kracknell, now began to look back to it,
almost with wistfulness. This man was undoubtedly the worst dancer

(07:21):
in America. Gimme little old New York, said the man
from up state, unpatriotically. It's good enough for me. I've
been to some swell shows since I got to town.
You seen this year's follies. No you go, said the
man earnestly. You go. Take it from me. It's a
swell show. You seen Myrtle takes a Turkish bath. I

(07:44):
don't go to many theaters. You go, it's a scream.
I've been to a show every night since I got here.
Every night, regular swell shows, all of em except this
last one. I certainly picked a lemon tonight. All right.
I was taking a chance, you see, because it was
an opening. But it would be something to say when
I got home that I'd been to a New York opening.

(08:04):
Set me back two seventy five, including tax, and I
wish i'd got it in my kick right now. The
wild Rose they called it, he said, satirically, as if
exposing a low subterfuge on the part of the management.
The wild Rose. It sure made me wild, all right?
Two dollars seventy five tossed away, Just like that. Something

(08:26):
stirred in Sally's memory. Why did that title seem so familiar?
Then with a shock, she remembered it was Gerald's new play.
For some time after her return to New York, she
had been haunted by the fear Lest coming out of
her apartment she might meet him coming out of his.
And then she had seen a paragraph in her morning
paper which had relieved her of this apprehension. Gerald was

(08:49):
out on the road with a new play, and The
wild Rose, she was almost sure was the name of it.
Is that Gerald Foster's play, she asked quickly. I dunno
who wrote it, said her partner. But let me tell you,
he's one lucky guy to get away alive. There's fellows
breaking stones on the Ossining road that's done a lot

(09:10):
less to deserve a sentence. Wild Rose. I'll tell the world,
it made me go good and wild, said the man
from Upstate, an economical soul who disliked waste and was
accustomed to spread out his humorous efforts so as to
give them every chance. Why before the second act was over.
The people were beating it for the exits, and if
it hadn't been for some one shouting women and children first,

(09:33):
there'd have been a panic. Sallie found herself back at
her table, without knowing clearly how she had got there,
Miss Nicholas. She started to rise and was aware suddenly
that this was not the voice of duty, calling her
once more through the gold teeth of mister Schoenstein. The
man who had spoken her name had seated himself beside

(09:56):
her and was talking in precise, clipped accents oddly familiar.
The mist cleared from her eyes, and she recognized Bruce Carlyle. Two.
I called at your place, mister Carlyle was saying, and
the hall porter told me that you were here, so

(10:17):
I ventured to follow you. I hope you do not mind?
May I smoke? He lit a cigarette with something of
an air. His fingers trembled as he raised the match,
but he flattered himself that there was nothing else in
his demeanor to indicate that he was violently excited. Bruce
Carlyle's ideal was the strong man who can rise superior

(10:37):
to his emotions. He was alive to the fact that
this was an embarrassing moment, but he was determined not
to show that he appreciated it. He cast a sideways
glance at Sallie and thought that, never, not even in
the garden at Monk's crofton on a certain momentous occasion,
had he seen her looking prettier. Her face was flushed

(11:00):
and her eyes aflame. The stout wraith of Uncle Donald,
which had accompanied mister Carlyle on this expedition of his
faded into nothingness as he gazed. There was a pause.
Mister Carlyle, having lighted his cigarette, puffed vigorously. When did
you land? Asked Sallie, feeling the need of saying something,

(11:23):
Her mind was confused. She could not have said whether
she was glad or sorry that he was there. Glad,
she thought on the hall. There was something in his dark, cool,
stiff English aspect that gave her a curious feeling of relief.
He was so unlike mister Cracknell and the man from upstate,
and so calmly remote from the feverish atmosphere in which

(11:46):
she lived her nights, that it was RESTful to look
at him. I landed to night, said Bruce Carmle, turning
and facing her squarely to night. We docked at ten.
He turned away again. He had made his effect and
was content to leave her to think it over. Sallie

(12:08):
was silent. The significance of his words had not escaped her.
She realized that his presence there was a challenge which
she must answer, and yet it hardly stirred her. She
had been fighting so long, and she felt utterly inert.
She was like a swimmer who can battle no longer
and prepares to yield to the numbness of exhaustion. The

(12:30):
heat of the room pressed down on her like a
smothering blanket. Her tired nerves cried out under the blare
of music and the clatter of voices. Shall we dance this?
He asked. The orchestra had started to play again, a sensuous,
creamy melody which was making the most of its brief
reign as Broadway's leading song hit Over, familiar to her

(12:53):
from a hundred repetitions. If you like efficiency was Brusque
Harmle's gospel. He was one of these men who do
not attempt anything which they cannot accomplish to perfection. Dancing,
he had decided early in his life, was a part
of a gentleman's education, and he had seen to it

(13:13):
that he was educated thoroughly. Sallie, who as they swept
out on to the floor, had braced herself automatically for
a repetition of the usual bumping struggle which dancing at
the flower Garden had come to mean for her, found
herself in the arms of a masterful expert, a man
who danced better than she did. And suddenly there came

(13:34):
to her a feeling that was almost gratitude, a miraculous
slackening of her taut nerves, a delicious peace. Soothed and contented.
She yielded herself with eyes half closed to the rhythm
of the malady, finding it now robbed in some mysterious
manner of all its stale, cheapness, And in that moment

(13:55):
her whole attitude towards Bruce Carmle underwent a complete change.
She had never troubled to examine with any minuteness or
feelings towards him, but one thing she had known clearly
since their first meeting that he was physically distasteful to her.
For all his good looks, and in his rather sinister way,

(14:15):
he was a handsome man. She had shrunk from him,
Now spirited away by the magic of the dance, that
repugnance had left her. It was as if some barrier
had been broken down between them. Sally, she felt his
arm tighten about her, the muscles quivering. She caught sight

(14:36):
of his face. His dark eyes suddenly blazed into hers,
and she stumbled with an odd feeling of helplessness, realizing
with a shock that brought her with a jerk out
of the half dream into which she had been lulled
that this dance had not postponed the moment of decision,
as she had looked to it to do. In a
hot whisper, the words swept away on the flood of

(14:58):
the music, which had suddenly become raucous and blaring. Once more.
He was repeating what he had said under the trees
at monks crofton on that far off morning in the
English springtime. Dizzily, she knew that she was resenting the
unfairness of the attack at such a moment, but her
mind seemed numbed. The music stopped abruptly. Insistent clapping started

(15:21):
it again, but Sallie moved away to her table, and
he followed her like a shadow. Neither spoke. Bruce Carmle
had said his say, and Sallie was sitting staring before her,
trying to think. She was tired, tired. Her eyes were burning.
She tried to force herself to face the situation squarely.
Was it worth struggling? Was anything in the world worth

(15:44):
a struggle? She only knew that she was tired, desperately tired,
tired to the very depths of her soul. The music stopped.
There was more clapping, but this time the orchestra did
not respond. Gradually, the floor emptied, the shuffling of feet ceased.
The flower garden was as quiet as it was ever
able to be. Even the voices of the babblers seemed

(16:08):
strangely hushed. Sallie closed her eyes, and as she did so,
from somewhere up near the roof, there came the song
of a bird. Isidore Abrahams was a man of his word.
He advertised a flower garden, and he had tried to
give the public something as closely resembling a flower garden
as it was possible for an overcrowded, overheated, over noisy

(16:30):
Broadway dancing resort to achieve. Paper roses festooned the walls,
genuine tulips bloomed in tubs by every pillar, and from
the roof hung cages with birds in them. One of these,
stirred by the sudden cessation of the tumult below, had
begun to sing. Sally had often pitied these birds, and

(16:52):
more than once had pleaded in vain with Abrahams for
a remission of their sentence. But somehow, at this moment
it did not occur to her that this one was
merely praying in its own language, as she often had
prayed in her thoughts, to be taken out of this place.
To her, sitting there, rustling with fate, the song seemed cheerful.
It soothed her, It healed her to listen to it,

(17:15):
And suddenly before her eyes there rose a vision of
Monk's Crofton, cool, green and peaceful under the mild English sun,
luring her as an oasis seen in the distance lures
the desert traveler. She became aware that the master of
Monk's Crofton had placed his hand on hers and was
holding it in a tightening grip. She looked down and

(17:38):
gave a little shiver. She had always disliked Bruce Carlyle's
hands They were strong and bony, and black hair grew
on the back of them. One of the earliest feelings
regarding him had been that she would hate to have
those hands touching her. But she did not move again.
That vision of the old garden had flickered across her mind,
a haven where she could rest. He was leaning towards her,

(18:03):
whispering in her ear. The room was hotter than it
had ever been, noisier than it had ever been, fuller
than it had ever been. The bird on the roof
was singing again, and now she understood what it said,
take me out of this? Did anything matter except that?
What did it matter? How one was taken, or where,

(18:25):
or by whom? So that one was taken? Monk's crofton
was looking cool and green and peaceful. Very well, said Sallie. Three.
Bruce Carmle, in the capacity of accepted suitor, found himself

(18:45):
at something of a loss. He had a dissatisfied feeling.
It was not the manner of Sallie's acceptance that caused this.
It would of course have pleased him better if she
had shown more warmth, but he was prepared to wait
for warmth. What did trouble him was the fact that
his correct mind perceived now for the first time, that
he had chosen an unsuitable moment and place for his

(19:08):
outburst of emotion. He belonged to the Orthodox school of thought,
which looks on moonlight and solitude as the proper setting
for a proposal of marriage, and the surroundings of the
flower garden, for all its niceness and the nice manner
in which it was conducted, jarred upon him profoundly. Music
had begun again, but it was not the soft music,

(19:30):
such as a lover demands if he is to give
of his best. It was a brassy, clashy rendering of
a ribled one step enough to choke the eloquence of
the most ardent. Couples were dipping and swaying and bumping
into one another as far as the eye could reach,
while just behind him two waiters had halted in order

(19:51):
to thrash out one of those voluble arguments in which
waiters loved to indulge. To continue the scene at the
proper emotional level was in possible, and Bruce Carlyle began
his career as an engaged man by dropping into small talk.
Deuce of a lot of noise, he said, querulously, Yes, agreed,

(20:13):
sallly is it always like this? Oh? Yes, infernal racket. Yes.
The romantic side of mister Carlyle's nature could have cried
aloud at the hideous unworthiness of these banalities. In the
visions which he had had of himself as a successful woar,

(20:36):
it had always been in the moments immediately succeeding the
all important question and its whispered reply, that he had
come out particularly strong. He had been accustomed to picture
himself bending with a proud tenderness over his partner in
the scene, and murmuring some notably good things to her
bowed head. How could any man murmur in a pandemonium

(20:57):
like this? From tenderness, Bruce Carmle descended with a sharp
swoop to irritability. Do you often come here? Yes? What
for to dance? Mister Carlyle chafed helplessly. The scene, which

(21:17):
should be so romantic, had suddenly reminded him of the
occasion when, at the age of twenty, he had attended
his first ball and had sat in a corner behind
a potted palm, perspiring shyly and endeavoring to make conversation
to a formidable nymph in pink. It was one of
the few occasions in his life at which he had
ever been at a complete disadvantage. He could still remember

(21:41):
the clammy discomfort of his too high collar as it
melted on him. Most certainly, it was not a scene
which he enjoyed recalling, and that he should be forced
to recall it now at what ought to have been
the supreme moment of his life annoyed him intensely. Almost angry,
he endeavored to jerk the conversation to a higher level.

(22:04):
Darling he murmured for by moving his chair two feet
to the right and bending sideways. He found that he
was in a position to murmur, you have made me
so batti batti e pressed her. Of the only holidays,
cried one of the disputing waiters at his back. Or
to Bruce Carmele's prejudiced hearing, it sounded like that La

(22:28):
donaymobele spaghetti napoli tetrazina, rejoined the second waiter with spirit,
you have made me so infanta, Isabella Lope de Vegasmologatani Toronto,
said the first waiter, weak but coming back pluckily so happy.
Funiguli funicula vicenti Blas Guibinez Vermicelli sul Campo de la

(22:52):
Gloria Risotto, said the second waiter clinchingly, and scored a
technical knockout. Bruce Carmle gave it up and lit a
moody cigarette. He was oppressed by that feeling which so
many of us have felt in our time, that it
was all wrong. The music stopped. The two leading citizens

(23:12):
of Little Italy vanished and went their way, probably to
start a vendetta. There followed comparative calm, but Bruce Carlyle's emotions,
like sweet bells jangled, were out of tune, and he
could not recapture the first, fine, careless rapture. He found
nothing within him but small talk. What has become of

(23:33):
your party, he asked, My party? The people you are with,
said mister Carlyle. Even in the stress of his emotion,
this problem had been exercising him in his correctly ordered world.
Girls did not go to restaurants alone. I'm not with anybody.
You came here by yourself, exclaimed Bruce Carmle, frankly aghast,

(23:58):
and as he spoke, the wreath of Uncle Donald banished
till now returned as large as ever, puffing disapproval through
a walrus mustache. I am employed here, said Sallie. Mister
Carlyle started violently. Employed here. As an answer, you know I,

(24:22):
Sallie broke off. Her attention abruptly diverted to something which
had just caught her eye at a table on the
other side of the room. That something was a red
headed young man of sturdy build who had just appeared
beside the chair in which mister Reginald Cracknell was sitting
in huddled gloom. In one hand he carried a basket,
and from this basket, rising above the din of conversation,

(24:43):
there came a sudden, sharp yapping. Mister Cracknell roused himself
from his stupor, took the basket, raised the lid. The
yapping increased in volume. Mister Cracknell rose the basket in
his arms with uncertain steps and a look on his
face like that of those who lead forlorn hopes. He
crossed the floor to where Miss Mabel Hobson sat, proud

(25:07):
and aloof the next moment, that haughty lady, the center
of an admiring and curious crowd, was hugging to her
bosom a protesting Pekinese puppy, and mister Cracknell, seizing his
opportunity like a good general, had deposited himself in a
chair at her side. The course of true love was
running smooth again. The red headed young man was gazing

(25:32):
fixedly at Sally as a dancer ejaculated. Mister Carlyle. Of
all those within sight of the moving drama which had
just taken place, he alone had paid no attention to it.
Replete as it was, with human interest, sex, appeal, the punch,
and all the other qualities which a drama should possess,

(25:53):
it had failed to grip him. His thoughts had been elsewhere.
The accusing figure of Uncle Donald refused to vanish from
his mental eye. The stern voice of Uncle Donald seemed
still to ring in his ear. A dancer, a professional
dancer at a Broadway restaurant. Hideous doubts began to creep

(26:15):
like snakes into Bruce Carlyle's mind. What he asked himself,
did he really know of this girl on whom he
had bestowed the priceless boon of his society for life?
How did he know that she was? He could not
find the exact adjective to express his meaning, but he
knew what he meant. Was she worthy of the boon?

(26:38):
That was what it amounted to. All his life he
had had a prim shrinking from the section of the
feminine world which is connected with the light life of
large cities. Club acquaintances of his in London had from
time to time married into the Gaiety Chorus, and mister Carlyle,
though he had no objection to the Gaiety Chorus in

(26:59):
its proper place on the other side of the footlights,
had always looked on these young men after as social outcasts.
The fine, dashing frenzy which had brought him all the
way from South Audley Street to winn Sallie was ebbing fast. Sallie,
hearing him speak, had turned and there was a candid
honesty in her gaze which for a moment sent all

(27:21):
those creeping doubts scuttling away into the darkness whence they
had come. He had not made a fool of himself,
he protested to the lowering phantom of Uncle Donald, who
he demanded, could look at Sallie and think for an
instant that she was not all that was perfect and lovable.
A warm revulsion of feeling swept over Bruce Carlyle like

(27:43):
a returning tide. You see, I lost my money and
had to do something, said Sallie. I see, I see,
murmured mister Carlyle. And if only fate had left him alone,
who knows to what heights of tenderness he might not
have soreard. But at this moment, Fate, being no respector

(28:03):
of persons sent into his life. The disturbing personality of
George Washington Williams. George Washington Williams was the talented colored
gentleman who had been extracted from small time vaudeville by
mister Abrahams to do a nightly specialty at the Flower Garden.
He was, in fact a trap drummer, and it was

(28:25):
his amiable practice, after he had done a few minutes
trap drumming, to rise from his seat and make a
circular tour of the tables on the edge of the
dancing floor, whimsically pretending to clip the locks of the
male patrons with a pair of drumsticks held scissor wise.
And so it came about that, just as mister Carlyle
was bending towards Sally in an access of manly sentiment,

(28:48):
and was on the very verge of pouring out his soul.
In a series of well phrased remarks, he was surprised
and annoyed to find an Ethiopian to whom he had
never been introduced, leaning over him and taking quite unpardonable
liberties with his back hair. One says that mister Carlyle
was annoyed. The word is weak. The interruption, coming at

(29:12):
such a moment, jarred every ganglion in his body. The
clicking noise of the drumsticks maddened him, and the gleaming
whiteness of mister Williams's friendly and benignant smile was the
last straw his dignity writhed beneath this abominable infliction. People
at other tables were laughing at him. A loathing for

(29:35):
the Flower Garden flowed over Bruce Carmle, and with it
a feeling of suspicion and disapproval of everyone connected with
the establishment. He sprang to his feet. I think I
will be going, he said. Sallie did not reply. She
was watching Ginger, who still stood beside the table recently

(29:55):
vacated by Reginald Kracknell. Good night, said mister Carlyle between
his teeth. Oh are you going? Said Sallie with a start.
She felt embarrassed. Try as she would, she was unable
to find words of any intimacy. She tried to realize
that she had promised to marry this man, but never

(30:16):
before had he seemed so much a stranger to her,
so little a part of her life. It came to
her with a sensation of the incredible that she had
done this thing, taken this irrevocable step. The sudden sight
of Ginger had shaken her. It was as though in
the last half hour she had forgotten him and only
now realized what marriage with Bruce Carmle would mean to

(30:39):
their comradeship. From now on, he was dead to her.
If anything in this world was certain, that was Sallie
Nicholas was Ginger's pal. But Missus Carlyle, she realized, would
never be allowed to see him again. A devastating feeling
of loss smote her like a blow. Yes, I've had

(31:01):
enough of this place, Bruce Carmle was saying good night,
said Sallie. She hesitated. When shall I see you? She
asked awkwardly. It occurred to Bruce Carmle that he was
not showing himself at his best. He had he perceived,
allowed his nerves to run away with him. You don't

(31:22):
mind if I go, he said, more amiably. The fact
is I can't stand this place any longer. I'll tell
you one thing. I'm going to take you out of
here quick. I'm afraid I can't leave at a moment's notice,
said Sallie, loyal to her obligations. We'll talk that over tomorrow.
I'll call for you in the morning and take you
for a drive somewhere in a car. You want some

(31:44):
fresh air. After this, mister Carlyle looked about him in
stiff disgust and expressed his unalterable sentiments concerning the flower garden,
that apple of Isidore Abraham's eye in a snort of loathing.
My god, what a place. He walked quickly away and disappeared,
and Ginger, beaming happily, swooped on Sallie's table like a

(32:08):
homing pigeon. Good lord, I say what, ho cried Ginger.
Fancy meeting you here? What a bit of luck? He
glanced over his shoulder, warily, has that blighter pipped pipped popped?
Explained Ginger. I mean to say he isn't coming back
or any rot like that is he, mister Carlyle. No,

(32:30):
he has gone sound egg, said Ginger with satisfaction. For
a moment, when I saw you yarning away together, I
thought he might be with your party. What on earth
is he doing over here at all? Confound him? He's
got all Europe to play about him. Why should he
come infesting New York? I say, it really is ripping
seeing you again, it seems ye hears. Of course one

(32:53):
gets a certain amount of satisfaction writing letters, but it's
not the same. Besides, I write such rotten letters. I say,
this really is rather priceless. Can't I get you something?
A cup of coffee? I mean, or an egg or something?
By jove, this really is top hole. His homely, honest
face glowed with pleasure, and it seemed to Sallie as

(33:14):
though she had come out of a winter's night into
a warm, friendly room. Her mercurial spirits soared. Oh, Ginger,
if you knew what it's like seeing you? No? Really,
do you mean honestly? You're braced? I should say I
am braced. Well, isn't that fine? I was afraid you

(33:36):
might have forgotten me, forgotten you with something of the
effect of a revelation. It suddenly struck Sallie how far
she had been from forgetting him, how large was the
place he had occupied in her thoughts. I've missed you dreadfully,
she said, and felt the words inadequate as she uttered them.

(33:58):
What ho said, Jininger, also internally condemning the poverty of
speech as a vehicle for conveying thought. There was a
brief silence the first exhilaration of the reunion over. Sally,
deep down in her heart, was aware of a troubled feeling,
as though the world were out of joint. She forced
herself to ignore it, but it would not be ignored.

(34:21):
It grew dimly. She was beginning to realize what Ginger
meant to her, and she fought to keep herself from
realizing it. Strange things were happening to her to night,
strange emotions stirring her. Ginger seemed somehow different, as if
she were really seeing him for the first time. You're

(34:41):
looking wonderfully well, she said, trying to keep the conversation
on a pedestrian level. I am well, said Ginger. Never
felt fitter in my life, been out in the open
all day long, simple life, and all that working like blazes.
I say, business is booming. Did you see me just
now handing ou over Percy the pup to what's his name?

(35:02):
Five hundred dollars on that one deal? Got the check
in my pocket. But what an extraordinarily rummy thing that
I should have come to this place to deliver the
goods just when you happened to be here. I couldn't
believe my eyes at first, I say, I hope the
people you're with won't think I'm butting in. You'll have
to explain that we're old pals, and that you started

(35:22):
me in business and all that sort of thing. Look here,
he said, lowering his voice. I know how you hate
being thanked, but I simply must say, how terrifically decent
Miss Nicholas le Schunstein was standing at the table, and
by his side an expectant youth with a small mustache
and ponse net Sally got up, and the next moment

(35:45):
Ginger was alone, gaping perplexedly after her as she vanished
and reappeared in the jogging throng on the dancing floor.
It was the nearest thing Ginger had seen to a
conjuring trick, and at that moment he was ill attuned
to conjuring de He brooded, fuming at what seemed to
him the supremest exhibition of pure cheek, of monumental nerve,

(36:07):
and of undiluted crust that had ever come within his
notice to come and charge into a private conversation like
that and whisk her away without a word. Who was
that blighter? He demanded with heat, when the music ceased,
and Sallie limped back, that was mister Schunstein. And who

(36:28):
was the other the one I danced with? I don't know,
you don't know. Sallie perceived that the conversation had arrived
at an embarrassing point. There was nothing for it but
candor Ginger. She said, You remember my telling you when
we first met that I used to dance in a

(36:49):
Broadway place. This is the place I'm working again. Complete
unintelligence showed itself on Ginger's every feature. I don't understand,
he said, unnecessarily, for his face revealed the fact I've
got my old job back. But why well, I had

(37:12):
to do something, she went on rapidly. Already a light,
dimly resembling the light of understanding was beginning to appear
in Ginger's eyes. Filmore went smash. You know, it wasn't
his fault, poor dear. He had the worst kind of luck,
and most of my money was tied up in his business.
So you see, she broke off, confused by the look

(37:34):
in his eyes, conscious of an absurd feeling of guilt.
There was amazement in that look, and a sort of
incredulous horror. Do you mean to say? Ginger gulped and
started again. Do you mean to tell me that you
let me have all that money for the dog business
when you were broke? Do you mean to say? Sally

(37:58):
stole a glance at his crimson face and looked away again. Quickly,
there was an electric silence. Look here, exploded Ginger, with
sudden violence. You've got to marry me. You've jolly well
got to marry me. I don't mean that, he added quickly.
I mean to say, I know you're going to marry
whoever you please, but won't you marry me, Sallie, for

(38:18):
God's sake, have a dash at it. I've been keeping
it in all this time because it seemed rather rotten
to bother you about it, But now, oh damn it,
I wish I could put it into words. I always
was rotten at talking. But well, look here, what I
mean is, I know I'm not much of a chap,
but it seems to me you must care for me
a bit to do a thing like that for a fellow.

(38:38):
And I've loved you like the Dickens ever since I
met you. I do wish you'd have a stab at it, Sallie.
At least I could look after you, you know, and all
that I mean to say, work like the deuce and
try to give you a good time. I'm not such
an ass as to think a girl like you could
ever really er love a blighter like me. But Sally

(39:00):
laid her hand on his ginger. Dear, she said, I
do love you. I ought to have known it all along,
but I seemed to be understanding myself to night. For
the first time. She got up and bent over him
for a swift moment, whispering in his ear. I shall
never love any one but you, Ginger, Will you try

(39:20):
to remember that? She was moving away, but he caught
at her arm and stopped her. Sallie, she pulled her
arm away, her face working as she fought against the
tears that would not keep back. I've made a fool
of myself, she said, Ginger, your cousin, mister Carlyle. Just
now he asked me to marry him, and I said

(39:43):
I would. She was gone, flitting among the tables like
some wild creature running to its home, and Ginger, motionless,
watched her go five. The telephone bell in Sallie's little
sitting room was ringing jerkily. As she let herself in

(40:05):
at the front door. She guessed who it was on
the other end of the wire, and the noise of
the bell sounded to her like the voice of a
friend in distress, crying for help. Without stopping to close
the door, she ran to the table and unhooked the receiver.
Muffled plaintive sounds were coming over the wire. Hullo, hullo,

(40:25):
I say, hullo, hullo, Ginger, said Sallie quietly. An ejaculation
that was half a shout and half gurgle answered her, Sallie,
is that you? Yes here, I am Ginger. I've been
trying to get you for ages. I've only just come
in I walked home. There was a pause. Hullo, yes, well,

(40:52):
I mean Ginger seemed to be finding his usual difficulty
in expressing himself about that. You know what you said, yes,
said Sallie, trying to keep her voice from shaking. You
said again. Ginger's vocabulary failed him. You said you loved me, yes,

(41:15):
said Sallie simply. Another odd sound floated over the wire,
and there was a moment of silence before Ginger found
himself able to resume. I. I, well, we can talk about
that when we meet. I mean, it's no good trying
to say what I think over the phone. I'm sort
of knocked out. I never dreamed. But I say, what

(41:36):
did you mean about Bruce? I told you, I told you.
Sallie's face was twisted and the receiver shook in her hand.
I've made a fool of myself. I never realized, and
now it's too late. Good God, Ginger's voice rose in
a sharp wail. You can't mean you really, you don't
seriously intend to marry the man. I must, I've promised,

(42:02):
But good Heavens, it's no good. I must. But the
man's a blighter. I can't break my word. I never
heard such rot, said Ginger vehemently. Of course you can.
A girl isn't expected. I can't, Ginger, dear, I really can't.
But look here. It's really no good talking about it

(42:25):
any more. Really, it isn't. Where are you staying tonight?
Staying me at the plaza. But look here, Sallie found
herself laughing weakly at the plaza. Oh, ginger, you really
do want somebody to look after you, squandering your pennies
like that. Well, don't talk any more now, it's so

(42:45):
late and I'm so tired. I'll come and see you tomorrow.
Good night. She hung up the receiver quickly to cut
short a fresh outburst of protest, and as she turned away,
a voice spoke behind her. Sally Gerald Foster was standing
in the doorway. End of Chapter sixteen, read by Kara

(43:10):
Shallenberg www. Dot Ka dot org on March seventh, two
thousand nine, in San Diego, California,