t say, when I finds myself planted next to
Bubbling Betty at the table I begins to suspect that I've been miscast
for the part.

She's some smart dresser, on and off, Betty is. Her idea of a perfectly
good dinner gown is to make it as simple as possible. All she needs is a
quart or so of glass beads and a little pink tulle and there she is.
There's more or less of her, too. And me thinkin' that Theda Bara stood
for the last word in bare. I hadn't seen Betty costumed for the dinin'
room then. And I expect the blush roses in the flower bowl had nothing
on my ears when it came to a vivid color scheme.

By that time, of course, she and Nicky had recovered from the shock of
findin' themselves with their feet under the same table and they've
settled down to bein' insultin'ly polite to each other. It's "Mr. Wells"
and "Miss Burke" with them, Nicky with his eyes in his plate and Betty
throwin' him frigid glances that should have chilled his soup. And the
next thing I know she's turned to me and is cuttin' loose with her whole
bag of tricks. Talk about bein' vamped! Say, inside of three minutes
there she had me dizzy in the head. With them sparklin', roly-boly eyes
of hers so near I didn't know whether I was butterin' a roll or
spreadin' it on my thumb.

"Do you know," says she, "I simply adore red hair--your kind."

"Maybe that's why I picked out this particular shade," says I.

"Tchk!" says she, tappin' me on the arm. "Tell me, how do you get it to
wave so cunningly in front?"

"Don't give it away," says I, "but I do demonstratin' at a male beauty
parlor."

This seems to tickle Betty so much that she has to lean over and chuckle
on my shoulder. "Bob calls you Torchy, doesn't he?" she goes on. "I'm
going to, too."

"Well, I don't see how I can stop you," says I.

"What do you think of this new near-beer?" she demands.

"Why," says I, "it strikes me the bird who named it was a poor judge of
distance." Which, almost causes Betty to swallow an olive pit.

"You're simply delightful!" says she. "Why haven't we met before?"

"Maybe they didn't think it was safe," says I. "They might be right, at
that."

"Naughty, naughty!" says she. "But go on. Tell me a funny story while
the fish is being served."

"I'd do better servin' the fish," says I.

"Pooh!" says she. "I don't believe it. Come!"

"How do you know I'm primed?" says I.

"I can tell by your eyes," says she. "There's a twinkle in them."

"S-s-s-sh!" says I.