The Man With Two Left Feet

king.'
    Once more Ted's eye met Katie's, and this time there was an imploring look in it.
    'That's right,' he said, slowly. 'I've just been telling your grandfather I'm the King of Coney Island.'
    'That's it. Of Coney Island.'
    'So there's no objection now to us getting married, kid—Your Royal Highness. It's a royal alliance, see?'
    'A royal alliance,' echoed Mr Bennett.
    Out in the street, Ted held Katie's hand, and grinned a little sheepishly.
    'You're mighty quiet, kid,' he said. 'It looks as if it don't make much of a hit with you, the notion of being married to me.'
    'Oh, Ted! But—'
    He squeezed her hand.
    'I know what you're thinking. I guess it was raw work pulling a tale like that on the old man. I hated to do it, but gee! when a fellow's up against it like I was, he's apt to grab most any chance that comes along. Why, say, kid, it kind of looked to me as if it was sort of
meant
. Coming just now, like it did, just when it was wanted, and just when it didn't seem possible it could happen. Why, a week ago I was nigh on two hundred votes behind Billy Burton. The Irish–American put him up, and everybody thought he'd be King at the Mardi Gras. And then suddenly they came pouring in for me, till at the finish I had Billy looking like a regular has–been.
    'It's funny the way the voting jumps about every year in this Coney election. It was just Providence, and it didn't seem right to let it go by. So I went in to the old man, and told him. Say, I tell you I was just sweating when I got ready to hand it to him. It was an outside chance he'd remember all about what the Mardi Gras at Coney was, and just what being a king at it amounted to. Then I remembered you telling me you'd never been to Coney, so I figured your grandfather wouldn't be what you'd call well fixed in his information about it, so I took the chance.
    'I tried him out first. I tried him with Brooklyn. Why, say, from the way he took it, he'd either never heard of the place, or else he'd forgotten what it was. I guess he don't remember much, poor old fellow. Then I mentioned Yonkers. He asked me what Yonkers were. Then I reckoned it was safe to bring on Coney, and he fell for it right away. I felt mean, but it had to be done.'
    He caught her up, and swung her into the air with a perfectly impassive face. Then, having kissed her, he lowered her gently to the ground again. The action seemed to have relieved his feelings, for when he spoke again it was plain that his conscience no longer troubled him.
    'And say,' he said, 'come to think of it, I don't see where there's so much call for me to feel mean. I'm not so far short of being a regular king. Coney's just as big as some of those kingdoms you read about on the other side; and, from what you see in the papers about the goings–on there, it looks to me that, having a whole week on the throne like I'm going to have, amounts to a pretty steady job as kings go.'

AT GEISENHEIMER'S
    As I walked to Geisenheimer's that night I was feeling blue and restless, tired of New York, tired of dancing, tired of everything. Broadway was full of people hurrying to the theatres. Cars rattled by. All the electric lights in the world were blazing down on the Great White Way. And it all seemed stale and dreary to me.
    Geisenheimer's was full as usual. All the tables were occupied, and there were several couples already on the dancing–floor in the centre. The band was playing 'Michigan':
I want to go back, I want to go back
To the place where I was born.
Far away from harm
With a milk–pail on my arm.
    I suppose the fellow who wrote that would have called for the police if anyone had ever really tried to get him on to a farm, but he has certainly put something into the tune which makes you think he meant what he said. It's a homesick tune, that.
    I was just looking round for an empty table, when a man jumped up and came towards me, registering joy as if I had been his long–lost sister.
    He was from the country. I could see that. It was written all over him, from his face to his shoes.
    He came up with his hand out, beaming.
    'Why, Miss Roxborough!'
    'Why not?' I said.
    'Don't you remember me?'
    I didn't.
    'My name is Ferris.'
    'It's a nice name, but it means nothing in my young life.'
    'I was introduced to you last time I came here. We danced together.'
    This seemed to bear the stamp of truth. If he was introduced to me, he probably danced with me. It's what I'm at Geisenheimer's for.
    'When was it?'
    'A year ago