When they entered the drug store--it also sold, according to its sign, “Cigars, soda, ice-cream, patent medicines, candy, knick-knacks, chewing gum, souvenirs and notions”--the sextette of which Helen Kendall made one was just leaving. She nodded pleasantly to Albert and he nodded in return, but Ed Raymond's careless bow he did not choose to see. He had hitherto rather liked that young gentleman; now he felt a sudden but violent detestation for him.
Sundaes pleasant to the palate and disastrous to all but youthful digestions were ordered. Albert's had a slight flavor of gall and wormwood, but he endeavored to counterbalance this by the sweetness derived from the society of Jane Kelsey and her friend. His conversation was particularly brilliant and sparkling that evening. Jane laughed much and chatted more. Miss Fosdick was quieter, but she, too, appeared to be enjoying herself. Jane demanded to know how the poems were developing. She begged him to have an inspiration now--“Do, PLEASE, so that Madeline and I can see you.” It seemed to be her idea that having an inspiration was similar to having a fit. Miss Fosdick laughed at this, but she declared that she adored poetry and specified certain poems which were objects of her especial adoration. The conversation thereafter became what Miss Kelsey described as “high brow,” and took the form of a dialogue between Miss Fosdick and Albert. It was interrupted by the arrival of the Kelsey limousine, which rolled majestically up to the drug store steps. Jane spied it first.
“Oh, mercy me, here's mother!” she exclaimed. “And your mother, too, Madeline. We are tracked to our lair. . . . No, no, Mr. Speranza, you mustn't go out. No, really, we had rather you wouldn't. Thanks, ever so much, for the sundaes. Come, Madeline.”
“Thank you, Mr. Speranza,” she said. “I have enjoyed our poetry talk SO much. It must be wonderful to write as you do. Good night.”
She looked admiringly into his eyes as she said it. In spite of the gall and wormwood Albert found it not at all unpleasant to be looked at in that way by a girl like Madeline Fosdick. His reflections on that point were interrupted by a voice from the car.
“Come, Madeline, come,” it said, fussily. “What ARE you waiting for?”