"The cousin? That'll be all the better. Good chance for
me to be gettin' in right with her. Tell her what to expect, Helma."
That's the sort of social plunger I am--regular drawing-room daredevil,
facin' all comers, passin' out the improvised stuff to strangers, and
backin' myself strong for any common indoor event. That is, I was until
about 8:13 that evenin'. Then I got in range of them quick-firin' dart
throwers belongin' to Miss Myra Burr.
Say, there's some people that shouldn't be allowed at large without
blinders on. Myra's one. Her eyes are the stabby kind, worse than long
hatpins. Honest, after one glance I felt like I was bein' held up on a
fork.
"Ouch!" says I, under my breath. But she must have heard.
"I beg pardon," says she. "Did you say something?"
"Side remark to my elbow," says I. "Must have caught the decreasing as I
came through. Excuse it."
"Oh!" says she. "You are the young man who dances such constant
attendance on Verona, are you?"
"That's a swell way of puttin' it," says I. "And I suppose you're
the--er--"
"I am Miss Burr," says she. "Verona is my cousin."
"Well, well!" says I. "Think of that!"
"Please don't reflect on it too hard," says she, "if you find the fact
unpleasant.
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