d havin' people around her
who could talk English, and watchin' the white clouds sail over the
green hills, and seein' her cattle and sheep browsin' about the fields.
It had rested her eyes and her soul.

And then, all of a sudden, she had this hunch that maybe she was missin'
something. Not that she thought she could come back reg'lar, or break
into the old life where she left off. She says she wasn't so foolish in
the head as all that. Her notion was that she might be happier and more
contented if she just looked on from the side-lines.

"I wanted to hear music," says she, "and see the lights, and watch gay
and beautiful young people doing the things I used to do. It
might--Well, it might shake off some of my years. Who knows?"

"Sure! That's the dope," says I. "Course, a lot of their old-time joints
ain't runnin' now--Koster & Bial's, Harrigan's, the Cafe Martin but
maybe some you remember are still open."

"Silly!" says she, shakin' a pudgy forefinger at me. "That isn't what I
want at all. Not the old, but the new; the very newest and most
fashionable. I'm not trying to go back, but trying to keep up."

"Oh!" says I. "In that case it'll be easy. How about startin' in with
the tea dance at the Admiral, just opened? Begins at 4:15."

"Tell me, Torchy," says she, "did you ever see anyone as--as huge as I
am at a tea dance? No, I think we'll not start with that."

"Then suppose we hop off with dinner on the Plutoria roof?" I suggests.
"The Tortonis are doing a dancin' turn there and they have the swellest
jazz band in town."

"It sounds exciting," says Bonnie. "I will try to be ready by 7:30. And
you surely are a nice boy. Now if you will help me out to the
elevator----"

And it's while I'm tryin' to steady her on one side as she goes rollin'
waddly through the main office that I gets a little hint of what's
comin' to me. Maybe you've seen a tug-boat bobbin' alongside a big liner
in a heavy sea. I expect we must have looked something like that. Even
so, that flossy bunch of lady typists showed poor taste in cuttin' loose
with the smothered snickers as we wobbles past.

And I could get a picture of myself towin' the Senora Concita Maria
What's-Her-Name, alias Bonnie Sutton, through the Plutoria corridors.
What if her feet should skid and after ten or a dozen bell hops had
boosted her up again they should find me underneath? Still I was in for
it. No scoutin' around for back-number restaurants, as I'd planned a