On With Torchy by Sewell Ford
page 233 of 289 (80%)
page 233 of 289 (80%)
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idea. "You rag, don't you?" says she.
"Only a few tango steps," says I. "My feet stutter." "Then I'll show you how," says she. "We have some dandy records, and the veranda's just right." So what does she do but tow me back to the house, ring up a couple of maids to clear away all the rugs and chairs, and push the music machine up to the open window. "Put on that 'Too Much Mustard,' Annette," says she, "and keep it going." Must have surprised Annette some, as I hadn't been accounted for; but a little thing like that don't bother Robbie. She gives me the proper grip for the onestep,--which is some close clinch, believe me!--cuddles her fluffy head down on my necktie, and off we goes. "No, don't try to trot," says she. "Just balance and keep time, and swing two or three times at the turn. Keep your feet apart, you know. Now back me. Swing! There, you're getting it. Keep on!" Some spieler, Robbie; and whether or not that was just a josh about orchids bein' invented for her, there's no doubt but what ragtime was. Yes, yes, that's where she lives. And me? Well, I can't say I hated it. With her coachin' me, and that snappy music goin', I caught the idea quick enough, and first I knew we was workin' in new variations that she'd suggest, doin' the slow toe pivot, the kitchen sink, and a lot more. |
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