Page:Minnie Flynn (1925).pdf/61

 scream though, Mr. Kessler? He's always tryin' to kid a fellow, and he don't mean a word of it. Do you, Billy dear?"

The "dear" was like a douche of cold water, laying Billy's fever.

"I guess so," he answered lamely, "I guess I was only kiddin', Kessler. At that, it's time to be goin'."

Minnie's hand reached in back of her and dropped the small knitted bag that held her powder-puff upon the bench. Only Al's shifting eyes saw this move, and he knew at once why Minnie had made it. When she bade him a pleasant, though formal good evening, and Billy had condescended to shake hands again, Al watched them walk away, a confident smile turning up the corners of his mouth. He took out a long near-amber holder and stuck a cigarette in it. Then he lighted it slowly, flicking the match after the retreating figures.

When Minnie came back for the little pink bag, they arranged a meeting for the following evening.

"I'll be in front of my house on Ninth Avenue between Forty-eighth and Forty-ninth Streets at eight o'clock," she whispered to him.

"What's the number of the apartment?" he asked, jotting a memo of the engagement in a small red book.

A lie came swiftly to her lips. "My sister's havin' a bunch of friends to the house tomorrow night," she replied. "If you come up there we'll get dragged into the party, and couldn't get away."

"Then you'd rather see me alone?"

"Yeh, I'd rather see you alone."

"All right, honey girl, how will I know the place when I see it?"

"It's The Central. You'll know the house," said Minnie casually, "by the marble entrance."