On the way to the steamer a few moments later, Ernest asked,
half-reproachfully: "Jack--and you really enjoyed this conversation?"
"Didn't you?"
"Do you mean this?"
"Why, yes; she was--very agreeable."
Ernest frowned.
"We're twenty, Ernest. And then, you see, it's like a course in
sociology. Susie--"
"Susie, was that her name?"
"Yes."
"So she had a name?"
"Of course."
"She shouldn't. It should be a number."
"They may not be pillars of society; still, they're human."
"Yes," said Ernest, "that is the most horrible part of it."
VIII
The moon was shining brightly.
Swift and sure the prow of the night-boat parted the silvery foam.
The smell of young flesh. Peals of laughter. A breathless pianola. The
tripping of dancing-feet. Voices husked with drink and voices soft with
love. The shrill accents of vulgarity. Hustling waiters. Shop-girls.
Bourgeois couples. Tired families of four and upward. Sleeping children.
A boy selling candy. The crying of babies.
The two friends were sitting on the upper deck, muffled in their long
rain-coats.
Pages:
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43