Page:Pieces People Ask For.djvu/46

36 His face bent down until her brow
 * Seemed touched by his mustache,

While she smiled on him—well, just how
 * A girl smiles on her mash.

He whispered something low and sweet,
 * And pointed down to where

Two little blue-silk-slippered feet
 * Were making people stare.

She blushed, and thrust one farther out,
 * As if for him to see;

A look of pain o'ercame her pout:
 * What ever could it be?

"Sure, never did a girl with man
 * So brazenly coquette

In public," said, behind her fan,
 * Each other girl you met.

I'll own appearances, indeed,
 * Were much against the maid;

But, as in many things we heed,
 * Of harm there was no shade.

How this I know, I'll tell to you:
 * I chanced to stand quite near

Upon the stairs, behind the two,
 * And then to overhear.

A long time passed, while neither spoke,
 * And then at last said he,—

"I'm sick of this: I'm sure you joke;
 * Your foot's quite well, I see.

"You could, if you but cared to try,
 * With me come down and dance."

Now, notice how her quick reply
 * Destroys the scene's romance.

"Perhaps you think my foot's all right;
 * But, sure as you are born,

I wish you wore my slippers tight,
 * And had—just there—that corn."

Andrew G. Tubbs.