Hiram looked out the window. "Did you see the fire?" he asked absently.
"Yes—walked round the block to get outa the crowd. But——"
"I just had to kinda spruce up a bit, Mr. Tweet. I felt so kinda—well, kinda countrified and—and lost, you might say."
"What's the fire got to do with that? And call me Playmate, too."
"Nothin', I suppose."
"Right across from the restaurant wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"M'm-m—I'd 'a' made a good lawyer, wouldn't I, Hiram?"
"I don't know—why?"
"Why, talkin' about sprucin' up, as you call it, you drift to a fire that occurred across the street from the place where there's a frowsy-topped waitress that's got you goin'. Well, le's foget it. Do we go to southern California together, or not? Our pile's dwindlin' on account o' this butterfly life you're leadin'."