Mr. Brunelli, being impressionable and a Latin, fell to conjugating
the verb "amare," with Katy in the objective case, though not because
of antipathy. She talked it over with her mother.
"Sure, I like him," said Katy. "He's more politeness than twinty
candidates for Alderman, and lie makes me feel like a queen whin he
walks at me side. But what is he, I dinno? I've me suspicions. The
marnin'll coom whin he'll throt out the picture av his baronial halls
and ax to have the week's rint hung up in the ice chist along wid all
the rist of 'em."
"'Tis thrue," admitted Mrs. Dempsey, "that he seems to be a sort iv a
Dago, and too coolchured in his spache for a rale gentleman. But ye
may be misjudgin' him. Ye should niver suspect any wan of bein' of
noble descint that pays cash and pathronizes the laundry rig'lar."
"He's the same thricks of spakin' and blarneyin' wid his hands,"
sighed Katy, "as the Frinch nobleman at Mrs. Toole's that ran away
wid Mr. Toole's Sunday pants and left the photograph of the Bastile,
his grandfather's chat-taw, as security for tin weeks' rint."
Mr. Brunelli continued his calorific wooing. Katy continued to
hesitate. One day he asked her out to dine and she felt that a
denouement was in the air. While they are on their way, with Katy in
her best muslin, you must take as an entr'acte a brief peep at New
York's Bohemia.
'Tonio's restaurant is in Bohemia. The very location of it is secret.
If you wish to know where it is ask the first person you meet.
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