was easily distinguishable in the midst of the gigantic Texans in cream-colored suits, in dun-colored tropicals, in Texas boots and great cream Stetsons, worn in arrogance and in defiance of the negligible universe outside their private world. Even in the welter of waving arms, the shrill greetings, the booming laughter, the shoving and milling, the handshaking the backslapping, “Well, if it ain’t Lutch, you old sonofagun! You telling me you left that wind-blown sand-stung Muleshoe town of yours and all those cow critters to cometo this——” even in the midst of this hullabaloo it was plain that something was wrong.
“Hurry, Bick. What is it?”
The men behind the door ropes were none of your oily headwaiters full of false deference and distaste for the human race in evening clothes. Giants in khaki guarded the entrance, and on their slim hips their guns, black and evil, gleamed above the holster flaps. And now, as Bick Benedict elbowed his way through the throng near the doorway, he heard one of the most gigantic of these guardians say, as he snapped with a contemptuous thumb and middle finger the stiff card in his other hand: “Well, you sure look like a cholo to me, and no Mexicans allowed at this party, that’s orders and besides none’s invited that’s sure.”
“Oh God, no!” cried Bick Benedict, and battered his way past resistant flesh and muscle to reach the giant cerberus. He called to him as he came. “Hi, Tod! Tod! Hold that, will you! Hold on there!” And the other man’s head turning toward him, a curious greyish tone like a film over the olive skin, his dark eyes stony with outrage. Bick reached them, he put a hand on the faultlessly tailored sleeve, the other on Tod’s steely wrist. “Look, Tod, this gentleman is one of the honored guests this evening, he’s going to be the new Ambassador from Nueva Bandera, down in South America. He’s come all the way from Washington to——” His voice was low, insistent.
Tod’s sunburned face broke into a grin that rippled from the lips to the eyes, he spoke in the soft winning drawl of his native region. “Well, I’m a hollow horn! I sure didn’t go for to hurt your feelings. I made a lot of mistakes in my day but this does take the rag off the bush.” He held out his great hand. “Glad to make your acquaintance. Sure sorry, Bick. Pass right along, gentlemen. Hi there, Miz Benedict, you’re looking mighty purty.”
There isn’t anything to do, Leslie said to herself as she slipped her hand through her guest’s arm, there isn’t anything to do but ignore the whole thing unless he speaks of it.
She chatted gaily. “It’s going to be a shambles, so crowded. We don’t have to stay late after the dinner if you want to leave—you andthe others. It’s just one of those things—everybody’s supposed to show up—you know—like a Washington reception when you can’t get near the buffet. You’ve probably never before in your life seen Stetsons worn with black dinner coats or women in Mainbocher evening gowns escorted by men in shirt sleeves and boots.” She looked about her. “Perhaps escorted isn’t exactly the word.”
Dinner, presaged by a jungle of tables and tables and tables, was to be served in the great domed main concourse. A bedlam, designated on the engraved invitations as a reception, was in progress in great sections and halls and rooms that next week would be restaurants, lunch rooms, baggage rooms, shops, offices. Every ticket and travel counter tonight was a bar. Travel signs were up, neat placards bearing the names of a half dozen air lines. And off the main hall were arrowed signs that said LADIES and others that said COLORED WOMEN . Orchids and great palms and tubs of blossoming trees. Banners, pennants, blinding lights. The reception now was spilling over into the concourse, into the patio and out to the runways. Kin Kollomore’s Band over there. Oddie Boogen’s Band over here. The loudspeakers were on, the
“Hurry, Bick. What is it?”
The men behind the door ropes were none of your oily headwaiters full of false deference and distaste for the human race in evening clothes. Giants in khaki guarded the entrance, and on their slim hips their guns, black and evil, gleamed above the holster flaps. And now, as Bick Benedict elbowed his way through the throng near the doorway, he heard one of the most gigantic of these guardians say, as he snapped with a contemptuous thumb and middle finger the stiff card in his other hand: “Well, you sure look like a cholo to me, and no Mexicans allowed at this party, that’s orders and besides none’s invited that’s sure.”
“Oh God, no!” cried Bick Benedict, and battered his way past resistant flesh and muscle to reach the giant cerberus. He called to him as he came. “Hi, Tod! Tod! Hold that, will you! Hold on there!” And the other man’s head turning toward him, a curious greyish tone like a film over the olive skin, his dark eyes stony with outrage. Bick reached them, he put a hand on the faultlessly tailored sleeve, the other on Tod’s steely wrist. “Look, Tod, this gentleman is one of the honored guests this evening, he’s going to be the new Ambassador from Nueva Bandera, down in South America. He’s come all the way from Washington to——” His voice was low, insistent.
Tod’s sunburned face broke into a grin that rippled from the lips to the eyes, he spoke in the soft winning drawl of his native region. “Well, I’m a hollow horn! I sure didn’t go for to hurt your feelings. I made a lot of mistakes in my day but this does take the rag off the bush.” He held out his great hand. “Glad to make your acquaintance. Sure sorry, Bick. Pass right along, gentlemen. Hi there, Miz Benedict, you’re looking mighty purty.”
There isn’t anything to do, Leslie said to herself as she slipped her hand through her guest’s arm, there isn’t anything to do but ignore the whole thing unless he speaks of it.
She chatted gaily. “It’s going to be a shambles, so crowded. We don’t have to stay late after the dinner if you want to leave—you andthe others. It’s just one of those things—everybody’s supposed to show up—you know—like a Washington reception when you can’t get near the buffet. You’ve probably never before in your life seen Stetsons worn with black dinner coats or women in Mainbocher evening gowns escorted by men in shirt sleeves and boots.” She looked about her. “Perhaps escorted isn’t exactly the word.”
Dinner, presaged by a jungle of tables and tables and tables, was to be served in the great domed main concourse. A bedlam, designated on the engraved invitations as a reception, was in progress in great sections and halls and rooms that next week would be restaurants, lunch rooms, baggage rooms, shops, offices. Every ticket and travel counter tonight was a bar. Travel signs were up, neat placards bearing the names of a half dozen air lines. And off the main hall were arrowed signs that said LADIES and others that said COLORED WOMEN . Orchids and great palms and tubs of blossoming trees. Banners, pennants, blinding lights. The reception now was spilling over into the concourse, into the patio and out to the runways. Kin Kollomore’s Band over there. Oddie Boogen’s Band over here. The loudspeakers were on, the
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