'I know, I know!' said Mr Bittenger. 'I used to be exactly the same. I guess I understand how you feel—SOME! Don't I?'
'And you are cured?' Stephen demanded, eagerly, as he nibbled at dry toast.
'You bet I'm cured!' said Mr Bittenger.
'You must tell me about that,' said Stephen, and added, 'some time tonight.' He did not care to discuss the bewildering internal economy of the human frame at his dinner-table. There were details...and Mr Bittenger was in a mood that it was no exaggeration to describe as gay.
Shortly afterwards, there arose a discussion as to their respective ages. They coquetted for a few moments, as men invariably will, each diffident about giving away the secret, each asserting that the other was younger than himself.
'Well,' said Mr Bittenger to Vera, at length, 'what age should you give me?'
'I—I should give you five years less than Stephen,' Vera replied.
'And may I ask just how old you are?' Mr Bittenger put the question at close range to Stephen, and hit him full in the face with it.
'I'm forty,' said Stephen.
'So am I!' said Mr Bittenger.