“Stop, Miss Drew,” Monty commanded. His voice had changed and she had never before seen that look in his eyes. “You need have no fear that I will trouble you again.”
THE CUT DIRECT
A typographical error in one of the papers caused no end of amusement to every one except Monty and Miss Drew. The headlines had announced “Magnificent ball to be given Miss Drew by her Finance,” and the “Little Sons of the Rich” wondered why Monty did not see the humor of it.
“He has too bad an attack to see anything but the lady,” said Harrison one evening when the “Sons” were gathered for an old-time supper party.
“It’s always the way,” commented the philosophical Bragdon, “When you lose your heart your sense of humor goes too. Engaged couples couldn’t do such ridiculous stunts if they had the least particle of it left.”
“Well, if Monty Brewster is still in love with Miss Drew he takes a mighty poor way of showing it.” “Subway” Smith’s remark fell like a bombshell. The thought had come to every one, but no one had been given the courage to utter it. For them Brewster’s silence on the subject since the DeMille dinner seemed to have something ominous behind it.
“It’s probably only a lovers’ quarrel,” said Bragdon. But further comment was cut short by the entrance of Monty himself, and they took their places at the table.
Before the evening came to an end they were in possession of many astonishing details in connection with the coming ball. Monty did not say that it was to be given for Miss Drew and her name was conspicuously absent from his descriptions. As he unfolded his plans even the “Little Sons,” who were imaginative by instinct and reckless on principle, could not be quite acquiescent.
“Nopper” Harrison solemnly expressed the opinion that the ball would cost Brewster at least $125,000. The “Little Sons” looked at one another in consternation, while Brewster’s indifference expressed itself in an unflattering comment upon his friend’s vulgarity. “Good Lord, Nopper,” he added, “you would speculate about the price of gloves for your wedding.”
Harrison resented the taunt. “It would be much less vulgar to do that, Monty, saving your presence, than to force your millions down every one’s throat.”
“Well, they swallow them, I’ve noticed,” retorted Brewster, “as though they were chocolates.”
Pettingill interrupted grandiloquently. “My friends and gentlemen!”
“Which is which?” asked Van Winkle, casually.
But the artist was in the saddle. “Permit me to present to you the boy Croesus—the only one extant. His marbles are plunks and his kites are made of fifty-dollar notes. He feeds upon coupons a la Newburgh, and his champagne is liquid golden eagles. Look at him, gentlemen, while you can, and watch him while he spends thirteen thousand dollars for flowers!”