CHAPTER XIX
PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT
What a radically different place the world seems when one doesn't have to
begin the day with an alarm clock! There is a hateful authority in its
brassy, peremptory summons that puts one on the defensive immediately. To
be sure, Nance dreamed she heard it the following day at noon, and sprang
up in bed with the terrifying conviction that she would be late at Miss
Bobinet's. But when she saw where she was, she gave a sigh of relief, and
snuggled down against Birdie's warm shoulder, and tried to realize what
had happened to her.
The big theater, the rows of smiling faces, the clapping hands--surely
they must have all been a dream? And Mr. Demry? Why had he sat on the
steps and cried into a big starchy handkerchief? Oh, yes; she remembered
now, but she didn't like to remember, so she hurried on.
There was a cafe, big and noisy, with little tables, and a woman who
stood on a platform, with her dress dragging off one shoulder, and sang a
beautiful song, called "I'm A-wearying for You." Mr. Monte didn't think
it was pretty; he had teased her for thinking so. But then he had teased
her for not liking the raw oysters, and for saying the champagne made her
nose go to sleep. They had all teased her and laughed at everything she
said. She didn't care; she liked it. They thought she was funny and
called her "Cubby." At least Mr. Monte did. Mr. Mac didn't call her
anything. He talked most of the time to Birdie, but his eyes were all for
_her_, with a smile that sort of remembered and sort of forgot, and--
"Say, Birdie!" She impulsively interrupted her own confused reflections.
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