“Before the waiters clear away the dishes,” he began, not so jocularly as one might think, “I wish to take this opportunity to say a few words about our charming guest of honor, Miss Dorothy Reitz Loamford.”
Mrs. Loamford applauded self-consciously, and her husband coughed out a “Hear, hear.”
“This is only the beginning of bigger things,” Uncle Elliott continued. “I can see in my mind’s eye another table, a larger table, at which distinguished people from all parts of the city—no, of the country—will be sitting. The guest of honor will be"
He bowed and waved his cigar.
“Dorothy Reitz Loamford, the famous singer. I only hope that I may have the honor of presiding on this occasion—may I have it, Dorothy?”
He was a dear old thing, although his speech sounded a little silly.
“Certainly, Uncle Elliott.”
She smiled pleasantly. Her smile was good and she knew it.
“And this banquet—for such it will be—I forecast for the not too distant future. How long does it take to be a great singer, Dorothy?”
The doorbell saved Dorothy.
“Our taxi!” exclaimed Mrs. Loamford. “We must hurry! Samuel, have you the tickets?”
Uncle Elliott stood staring at his cigar. Evidently it would be impossible to recapture the attention of his audience. His audience, in fact, had risen and was looking for coats and hats. Uncle Elliott overtook Dorothy as she was leaving the room, and hugged her.
“You certainly are sweet enough to eat,” he grunted through a kiss. “When you're a great singer, I guess you won’t care about your old Uncle Elliott, eh?”
[21]
