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Amory, Son of Beatrice
"I’dbeproudtotakeherhomeandintroducehertomypeople,"continuedPaskert.
Amorywasdistinctlyimpressed.HewishedhehadsaiditinsteadofPaskert.Itsoundedsomature.
"Iwonderaboutactresses;aretheyallprettybad?"
"No,sir,notbyadarnsight,"saidtheworldlyyouthwithemphasis,"andIknowthatgirl’sasgoodasgold.Icantell."
Theywanderedon,mixingintheBroadwaycrowd,dreamingonthemusicthateddiedoutofthecafes.Newfacesflashedonandofflikemyriadlights,paleorrougedfaces,tired,yetsustainedbyawearyexcitement.Amorywatchedtheminfascination.Hewasplanninghislife.HewasgoingtoliveinNewYork,andbeknownateveryrestaurantandcafe,wearingadress-suitfromearlyeveningtoearlymorning,sleepingawaythedullhoursoftheforenoon.
"Yes,sir,I’dmarrythatgirlto-night!"
HEROICINGENERALTONE
OctoberofhissecondandlastyearatSt.Regis’wasahighpointinAmory’smemory.ThegamewithGrotonwasplayedfromthreeofasnappy,exhilaratingafternoonfarintothecrispautumnaltwilight,andAmoryatquarter-back,exhortinginwilddespair,makingimpossibletackles,callingsignalsinavoicethathaddiminishedtoahoarse,furiouswhisper,yetfoundtimetorevelintheblood-stainedbandagearoundhishead,andthestraining,gloriousheroismofplunging,crashingbodiesandachinglimbs.
