They took a walk, and followed a roundabout way. Then they sat on a bank, and his arm followed a roundabout way.
She seemed more young and tender than ever, in a simple white muslin frock and blue sash. Her broad-leafed hat was decked with a few pink roses, and roll-top white socks added a good deal to the picture.
Petticoat was charmed.
Golly, but I love you, Warble! he cried.
She did not answer, but she touched the upper edge of the wallet in his breast pocket with an exploring gesture.
You think Im too darn aesthetic! Well, youre not, and so we ought to mate. Were complementary to one another, like air and sunshine or light and shade.
Or pork and beans, or pie and cheese.
Yes, or like stout and porterIll be the porter, ohwhats the use of talking? Let my lips talk to you!
He kissed her cheek, imprinting thereon a Cupids bow, by reason of his own addiction to the lipstick.
Warble rubbed it off with the back of her hand, and said, Oh, pleathepleathe.
She wondered if she ought to have said thank you, but it was only a drifting thought and she turned the other cheek. Then she smiled her engaging smile and they were engaged.
Later in the game, she said, with pretty diffidence, I would like to thee Butterfly Thenter. And she blushed like the inside of those pink meat melons.
I knew it! and Petticoat produced a pile of Sunday Picture Supplements.
Her cheek nested in his permanent wave, Warble studied the pictures.
They were the last word in artistic architecture. Truly, Butterfly Center, where Petticoat lived, was a veritable Utopia, Arcadia, Spotless Town and Happy Valley all rolled into one. Broad streets, arching trees, sublimated houses, glorified shopsit seemed to Warble like a flitter-work Christmas card from the drug-store.
Howd you like to scoot up there with me in a fast aeroplane? he jollied her.
It might bea lark she dubioused.
But heres the picture! and proudly he exhibited a full length view of his own home.
Ptomaine Haul, he exploited, proudly. Built every inch of it from the busy little ptomaines. Coral insects nothing on that, eh? And heres the sort of people I practice on. Old Leathersham, nowhe has a corking châteauFrench Renaissance. And Mrs. Charity Givensshe has a Georgian shack. And, oh, yes, heres Iva Payne. Shes one of my most profitable patientssick all the time.
Warble studied the pictures.
What expensive people, she said, dearso dear.
Yes, great people. Youd love em. Theyre just layin for you. Come on, Warble, will you?
Yop, she murmured, from his coat pocket, Sweet, so sweet.
CHAPTER III
Among the rolling stock of a great railroad, a moving mass of steel. A soft sludge as it came noiselessly to rest beneath the glazed chintz awnings of the Butterfly Center station.
A faint scent of chypre from Petticoats cigarette as he alit.
From his private train, which had slithered across the intervening spaces and slid into its moorings as butter slides from a hot plate.
It is September, cool, green and well-sprinkled.
The obviously important man was followed by a yellow-topped, rose-cheeked girl, whose eyes were all blue and a yard wide as she looked about.
About what?
About eighteen.
They were Dr. Big Bill Petticoat and his bride, Warble.
They had been married and had spent their honeymoon in riotous loving.
It had been transforming. Warble had been frightened to discover how hungry she could be even on a wedding trip.
Bill had mused to himself; whats the difference between an optimist and a pessimist? One honeymoon. And now they had reached their home town. People were not altogether new to Warble. She had seen them before. But these were her own people, to bathe and encourage and adornand, they didnt seem to need it.
They distressed her. They were so smart. She had always held that there is no style in America, no chic effects out of Paris.
But here on the terrace of the simple little hewn stone station were hordes of men and women who seemed to be, mentally, morally and physically, literally butterflies.
Isnt there any way of waking them up? she begged of Petticoat, grabbing his arm and shaking him.
These guys? Wake em up? What for? Theyre happy.
But theyre so smugno, that isnt what I mean. Theyre so stick-in-the-mud.
Look here, Warble, you want to get over your fool idea that because a woman is slender she isnt adorable. These folks are up to date, snuff and mischief.
I know, thats whats biting me. Life seems so hard for them.
Oh, they dont mind it. Now you must meet the bunch. Theyre all down here to meet their husbands or something just as good. Now you behave yourself.
Yop.
She had a grip on herself. She was ready to kiss and be friends with them all. But she was scared at the rackety pack who ballyhooed like Coney Island and surged down upon her like a Niagara Falls.
She had the impression that all the men had soft voices, large, embracing arms, gimlet eyes and bored, impersonal smiles. She knew they were taking her in. Their pleasant hoots and yells of greeting overcame her.
Oh, pleathepleathe, she lisped.
In her fresh frilled dimity and soft sash of baby-blue Surah, her rolled white socks disclosing but a few tantalizing inches of seashell-pink calf, Warble stood, eyes cast down, a pretty, foolish thing,
As soft as young,
As gay as soft,
and, to a man, the male population of Butterfly Center fell for her.
Not so the remainder of the citizens.
One of the men was yelling at Petticoat:
Hop into my car, Bill, Dont see yoursIll tote the bride-person youve got therewith joy and gladness. Warble looked at the yeller.
Cant quite place me, chick, can you? he grinned at her. Well Im only old Goldwin Leathershamno use for me in the world but to spend money. Want me to spend some on you? Heres my old thingstep up here, Marigold, and be introduced. Shes really nicer than she looks, Mrs. Petticoat.
Indeed Im not, Marigold Leathersham cried gaily, I couldnt benobody could be!
She came runninga beautiful, slim young woman, with a wealth of expensive looking gold hair, white and gold teeth that broke into a lavish smile. Her voice was rich and though she looked above, away from and through Warble, yet she saw her.
So glad to welcome you, you pretty baby, she chirruped. Youre going to love us all, arent you?
Yop, said Warble, and smiled her engaging smile.
You bet shell love us, declared Leathersham, shell make the world go round! Hello, Little One, he turned to pat the cheek of a white-haired, red-faced old lady, who hawk-eyed and hawk-nosed, stood by, listening in. This, Mrs. Petticoat, is our Lady Bountiful, Mrs. Charity Givensnoted for her generosity. She ostentatiously heads all Donation Lists, and shes going to start a rest cure where your husbands unsuccessful cases may die in peace. And heres one of the cases. Hello, Iva Payne!
Hello, languidly responded a girl like a long pale lilya Burne-Jones type, who sometimes carried around a small stained-glass window to rest her head against.
Are you really Bills wife? she asked, a little disinterestedly, of Warble.
Yop, said Warble, and made a face at her.
How quaint, said Iva.