Ralph Henry Barbour

“ Gould,” prompted Betty.
I turned away. Then I paused, struck with a brilliant thought.
“Betty, if I don't find him, may I?—that is——”
“No,” answered Betty, decidedly, “you may not. So you might just as well find him.”
“Betty,” I pleaded, “he doesn't know your wishes as well as I. He doesn't know the kind of sandwiches you like. He doesn't guess that it takes twelve olives to satisfy your dainty hunger. And will he ask you to have a second or a third plate of salad? Not he! He would not dare; he thinks you are far, far too ethereal to eat mere food. Betty, he will starve you.” ”

“ You always make me bribe you to do everything. I'll stay for two extras if you'll find Mr. Gould at once.”
“Two extras, forsooth! What are two extras to a man whose heart is famished?”'
“Bother your heart,” cried Betty.
“Make it five extras and Gould shall be here immediately. Say no, and—ha! ha!—here we shall stay until the last emaciated sandwich is gone and the last dish of pink ice is melted.”
“I'll say three extras, then. Now go, please.”
“And I may have them all?”
“You may dance every one of them.”
“Betty, you're an—an—no, not an angel, Betty: you're a trump. ”

“ Life is a great big, gruesome tragedy, isn't it? And the weather is just awful, and they set the worst table over at the hotel that you ever saw, don't they? And you doubt if you have a friend in the world; and as for me—” Betty tried to whistle—a most absurd, futile and charming effort—“as for me, why, I'm the very incarnation of frivolity, hard-heartedness and fickleness ”