to school and are, but don't know it yet, and young guys which toils not neither do they spin, on account of bein' able to shake a nasty hoof. Everybody is dancin' hither and you to the soft strains of a jazz band which would get throwed out of a boiler factory for makin' too much noise.
In the midst of the above, I discover' Kid Roberts.
The boy is steppin' out with a Jane which the only thing I can tell about her from where I stand is that she's got black hair and a lot of it, but when the music had mercy and laid off and by dumb luck they come to a halt opposite me, I seen that was only one of the young lady's various charms. She's one of them medium height, curvin' knockouts which would prob'ly of made a bigger boob outa Marc Anthony than Cleo did, inside of five minutes. Also, she had a couple of eyes which would attract a crowd even if set in a scarfpin, and she had found out that they was more things could be done with 'em than merely gazin' straight ahead. Even though a experienced spectator could see her complexion come in a can, she had made a beaucoup job of it. But the expression in them starry orbs I spoke about reminded me of a boss poker player's when he's considerin' standin' a raise.
"Lookin' for me?" says the Kid pleasantly, seein' me.
"Yeh," I nods, givin' the young lady a brief glance.
"Pardon me, Miss Murray," he says, with a drawin'-room bow, "I won't be a moment, and then we'll finish our dance. Oh, let me introduce my friend, Mister—"
"Pleased t'meetcha!" butts in the charmin' young damsel, with what she no doubt thought was a killin'
