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Train, Arthur Cheney, 1875-1945

"Tutt and Mr. Tutt"

"What's ever got into
you?"
"Dunno!" he retorted gaily. "The spring, I guess. What do you say to a
little dinner at a restaurant and then going to the play?"
She bridled--being one of the generation who did such things--with
pleasure.
"Seems to me you're getting rather extravagant." she objected. "Still--"
"Oh, come along!" he bullied her. "One of my clients collected five
thousand dollars this afternoon."
Tutt summoned a taxi and they drove to the brightest, most glittering of
Broadway hostelries. Abigail had never been in such a chic place before.
It half terrified and shocked her, all those women in dresses that
hardly came up to their armpits. Some of them were handsome though. That
slim one at the table by the pillar, for instance. She was really quite
lovely with that mass of yellow-golden hair, that startlingly white
skin, and those misty China-blue eyes. And the gentleman with her, the
tall man with the pink cheeks, was very handsome, too.
"Look, Samuel," she said, touching his hand. "See that good-looking
couple over there."
But Samuel was looking at them already--intently. And just then the
beautiful woman turned and, catching sight of the Tutts, smiled
cordially if somewhat roguishly and raised her glass, as did her
companion. Mechanically Tutt elevated his. The three drank to one
another.
"Do you know those people, Samuel?" inquired Mrs. Tutt somewhat stiffly.


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