"I'm glad you like it, Rose," said Gar, just as softly, his voice as sincere as it had ever been. "Happy birthday." Then, apparently having gotten it out of his system, his voice became irreverent again. "As soon as someone invents cell phones again, I'm probably going to call you and arrange our date. Champagne, roses, limo. I'll try to come up with some more symbols of excess for us."
Gar got the attention of the bartender and, with some effort, got him to make a fruit juice cocktail by explaining that he just poured in everything he would do for a mixed drink, then leaving out the drink. Then he stood on his stool. "Excuse me, ladies and drunkards, flappers and gangsters, souses of all ages. I, as an Australian gentleman, would like to raise a toast to Miss Rose Frost, who's currently celebrating her birthday! To Rose!"
"To Rose," echoed enough of the assembled lawbreakers to punch through the din of the establishment.