The third month of this she was allowing Leo Friedlander his two
evenings a week. Once to the theater in a modish little sedan car
which Leo drove himself. One evening at home in the rose-and-mauve
drawing-room. It delighted Louis and Carrie slyly to have in their
friends for poker over the dining-room table these evenings, leaving the
young people somewhat indirectly chaperoned until as late as midnight.
Louis' attitude with Leo was one of winks, quirks, slaps on the back,
and the curving voice of innuendo.

"Come on in, Leo; the water's fine!"

"Louis!" This from Alma, stung to crimson and not arch enough to feign
that she did not understand.

"Loo, don't tease," said Carrie, smiling, but then closing her eyes as
if to invoke help to want this thing to come to pass.

But Leo was frankly the lover, kept not without difficulty on the
edge of his ardor. A city youth with gymnasium-bred shoulders, fine,
pole-vaulter's length of limb, and a clean tan skin that bespoke cold
drubbings with Turkish towels.

And despite herself, Alma, who was not without a young girl's feelings
for nice detail, could thrill to this sartorial svelteness and to the
patent-leather lay of his black hair which caught the light like a
polished floor.

In the lingo of Louis Latz, he was "a rattling good business man,
too." He shared with his father partnership in a manufacturing
business--"Friedlander Clinical Supply Company"--which, since his advent