“Then just why were you usin’ me, me of all people, to make a date with him not more than twenty-four hours ago?” demanded the irate voice over the wire. “And if there’s nothin’ to that, just why is he runnin’ round in your car to-day?”
“In my car?” echoed Teddie.
“Yes, and bumpin’ into a Fifth Avenue bus with it and havin’ the ink sleuths from the canary-colored evenin’ papers comin’ and frightenin’ his poor old mother into a nervous breakdown?”
It took a little time for Teddie to digest this.
“But, my dear girl,” she finally explained, “your Gunnie has no more claim on that car of mine than he has on me.”
“Well, he thinks he has. And he’s so sure of it he’s even been advertisin’ that you know he has. And I’ve been goin’ with Gunnie long enough to realize that that boy never told a lie in his life.”
This declaration of faith in Gunboat Dorgan was followed by a moment or two of unbroken silence.
“Ruby,” finally called out the bewildered girl at the telephone, “I want you to come here. I want to see you. I must see you at once.”
“From the way things are breakin’,” clearly and coldly announced the lady on the other end of the wire, “I don’t think it’s me you want to see. You’d better do your talkin’ to my lawyer!”
“Ruby!” called the girl at the desk.