A Magnetic Attraction
Meanwhile, the young lady and Rip were seated at a table in the tavern. The lights were low. In one corner, a poker game was being played out. In another, a piano was being strummed softly, while in the third, the outline could be seen of a broom and dustpan. The young lady was deeply conscious of Rip's gaze, locked moodily on the opposite wall, and of his shirtfront, which was safety pinned in several places-- and of the magnet dangling on the string around his neck. "All my life," he drawled, "I've been a drifter. Drifting here.... drifting there.... drifting, drifting.... everywhere." The young lady coughed. "I've seen so many things, done so many things, eaten..... so many things." The young lady looked awkwardly at the Poker game. "And now.... I'm ready to settle down." "Where?" the young lady asked, bouyed up in the face of his dreary tale by a natural enthusiasm and oblivious manner. "Right here," he yawned. "Here at this.... table...." his eyes began to close. They were jerked open again by a feminine voice: "You wear a magnet around your neck?" "Huh, wha- oh, yes. Magnet. I always carry my magnet," he said, fingering the string around his neck. "You see, my shirt has been through.... so many things. You may have noticed it’s a little short on buttons." The young lady lowered her head and murmured something unintelligible. He went on fingering the magnet, pre-digesting his words slowly: "A magnet isn’t much – but it’s all I have. It’s all I have to rely on. It's the only thing that keeps me company in the long, lonely nights; when I look for lost safety pins. “This is why man needs woman," he continued. "Woman always carries buttons. Yes, she carries buttons, and nifty packets of needles and thread…." He turned to face the young lady-- his dark, handsome features illuminated by the streaming light of the window. "May I ask," he hesitated, "Do you-- would you have such a packet?" The young lady looked earnestly into his deep blue eyes. "I do," she breathed. |
