"What's grand about it?"
"Oh, well, Miss Blair finding me that house to go to—and you going along with me—and the doctor coming to see me to-morrow to talk about a job—"
"What job?"
"Oh, some job. There'll be one. You'll see. I've got the darnedest good luck a guy was ever born with—all except my name."
"What about the fellows you said would be jazzing around the dock to meet you?"
I was sorry for that bit of cruelty before it had got into words. It was one of the rare occasions on which I ever saw his honest pug-face fall.
"Say, you didn't believe that, did you?"
"You said it."
"Oh, well, I say lots of things. Have to."
We jolted on till a block in the traffic enabled him to continue without the difficulty of speaking against noise. "Look here! I'm going to tell you something. It's—it's a secret."