"Why, child, you won't do anything of the sort. Ma hasn't got a bit of kick coming. You've always been awful nice, far as I can see." She smiled lavishly. "I went for a walk to-night.... I wish all those men wouldn't stare at a girl so. I'm sure I don't see why they should stare at me."
Mr. Wrenn nodded, but that didn't seem to be the right comment, so he shook his head, then looked frightfully embarrassed.
"I went by that Armenian restaurant you were telling me about, Mr. Wrenn. Some time I believe I'll go dine there." Again she paused.
He said only, "Yes, it is a nice place."
Remarking to herself that there was no question about it, after all, he was a little fool, Theresa continued the siege. "Do you dine there often?"
"Oh yes. It is a nice place."
"Could a lady go there?"
"Why, yes, I-"
"Yes!"
"I should think so," he finished.
"Oh!... I do get so awfully tired of the greasy stuff Ma and Goaty dish up. They think a big stew that tastes like dish-water is a dinner, and if they do have anything I like they keep on having the same thing every day till I throw it in the sink. I wish I could go to a restaurant once in a while for a change, but of course-I dunno's it would be proper for a lady to go alone even there. What do you think? Oh dear!" She sat brooding sadly.
He had an inspiration. Perhaps Miss Theresa could be persuaded to go out to dinner with him some time. He begged:
"Gee, I wish you'd let me take you up there some evening, Miss Zapp."
"Now, didn't I tell you to call me `Miss Theresa'? Well, I suppose you just don't want to be friends with me. Nobody does." She brooded again.
"Oh, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Honest I didn't. I've always thought you'd think I was fresh if I called you `Miss Theresa,' and so I-"
"Why, I guess I could go up to the Armenian with you, perhaps. When would you like to go? You know I've always got lots of dates but I-um-let's see, I think I could go to-morrow evening."
"Let's do it! Shall I call for you, Miss-uh-Theresa?"
"Yes, you may if you'll be a good boy. Good night." She departed with an air of intimacy.
Mr. Wrenn scuttled to the Nickelorion, and admitted to the Brass-button Man that he was "feeling pretty good 's evening."
He had never supposed that a handsome creature like Miss Theresa could ever endure such a "slow fellow" as himself. For about one minute he considered with a chill the question of whether she was agreeable because of his new wealth, but reproved the fiend who was making the suggestion; for had he not heard her mention with great scorn a second cousin who had married an old Yankee for his money? That just settled that, he assured himself, and scowled at a passing messenger-boy for having thus hinted, but hastily grimaced as the youngster showed signs of loud displeasure.
The Armenian restaurant is peculiar, for it has foreign food at low prices, and is below Thirtieth Street, yet it has not become Bohemian. Consequently it has no bad music and no crowd of persons from Missouri whose women risk salvation for an evening by smoking cigarettes. Here prosperous Oriental merchants, of mild natures and bandit faces, drink semi-liquid Turkish coffee and discuss rugs and revolutions.
In fact, the place seemed so unartificial that Theresa, facing Mr. Wrenn, was bored. And the menu was foreign without being Society viands. It suggested rats' tails and birds' nests, she was quite sure. She would gladly have experimented with pate de foie gras or alligator-pears, but what social prestige was there to be gained at the factory by remarking that she "always did like pahklava "? Mr. Wrenn did not see that she was glancing about discontentedly, for he was delightedly listening to a lanky young man at the next table who was remarking to his vis-a-vis, a pale slithey lady in black, with the lines of a torpedo-boat: "Try some of the stuffed vine-leaves, child of the angels, and some wheat pilaf and some bourma. Your wheat pilaf is a comfortable food and cheering to the stomach of man. Simply won-derful. As for the bourma, he is a merry beast, a brown rose of pastry with honey cunningly secreted between his petals and-Here! Waiter! Stuffed vine-leaves, wheat p'laf, bourm'-twice on the order and hustle it."
"When you get through listening to that man-he talks like a bar of soap-tell me what there is on this bill of fare that's safe to eat," snorted Theresa.
"I thought he was real funny," insisted Mr. Wrenn.... "I'm sure you'll like shish kebab and s-"
"Shish kibub! Who ever heard of such a thing! Haven't they any-oh, I thought they'd have stuff they call `Turkish Delight' and things like that."
"`Turkish Delights' is cigarettes, I think."
"Well, I know it isn't, because I read about it in a story in a magazine. And they were eating it. On the terrace.... What is that shish kibub?"
"Kebab.... It's lamb roasted on skewers. I know you'll like it."
"Well, I'm not going to trust any heathens to cook my meat. I'll take some eggs and some of that-what was it the idiot was talking about-berma?"
"Bourma.... That's awful nice. With honey. And do try some of the stuffed peppers and rice."
"All right," said Theresa, gloomily.
Somehow Mr. Wrenn wasn't vastly transformed even by the possession of the two thousand dollars her mother had reported. He was still "funny and sort of scary," not like the overpowering Southern gentlemen she supposed she remembered. Also, she was hungry. She listened with stolid glumness to Mr. Wrenn's observation that that was "an awful big hat the lady with the funny guy had on."
He was chilled into quietness till Papa Gouroff, the owner of the restaurant, arrived from above-stairs. Papa Gouroff was a Russian Jew who had been a police spy in Poland and a hotel proprietor in Mogador, where he called himself Turkish and married a renegade Armenian. He had a nose like a sickle and a neck like a blue-gum nigger. He hoped that the place would degenerate into a Bohemian restaurant where liberal clergymen would think they were slumming, and barbers would think they were entering society, so he always wore a fez and talked bad Arabic. He was local color, atmosphere, Bohemian flavor. Mr. Wrenn murmured to Theresa:
"Say, do you see that man? He's Signor Gouroff, the owner. I've talked to him a lot of times. Ain't he great! Golly! look at that beak of his. Don't he make you think of kiosks and hyrems and stuff? Gee! What does he make you think-"
"He's got on a dirty collar.... That waiter's awful slow.... Would you please be so kind and pour me another glass of water?"
But when she reached the honied bourma she grew tolerant toward Mr. Wrenn. She had two cups of cocoa and felt fat about the eyes and affectionate. She had mentioned that there were good shows in town. Now she resumed:
"Have you been to `The Gold Brick' yet?"
"No, I-uh-I don't go to the theater much."
"Gwendolyn Muzzy was telling me that this was the funniest show she'd ever seen. Tells how two confidence men fooled one of those terrible little jay towns. Shows all the funny people, you know, like they have in jay towns.... I wish I could go to it, but of course I have to help out the folks at home, so- Well.... Oh dear."
"Say! I'd like to take you, if I could. Let's go-this evening!" He quivered with the adventure of it.
"Why, I don't know; I didn't tell Ma I was going to be out. But-oh, I guess it would be all right if I was with you."
"Let's go right up and get some tickets."
"All right." Her assent was too eager, but she immediately corrected that error by yawning, "I don't suppose I'd ought to go, but if you want to-"