“Sure. What is it, though?”
“Oto-laryngology, if you insist.”
“Is it?” asked Mauney, absently, as he leaned against the wall by the door.
“Well, of course, you fish. If I say it’s oto-laryngology I don’t mean anything else. What’s the matter with you? Sit down. I’m out of smokes. If you’ve got any, hand ’em over.”
Mauney tossed his package of cigarettes on the desk and stretched himself in a chair near by.
“Well, Max,” he said at length. “You’re the luckiest dog in Merlton!”
“How do you make that out, my son?” Lee asked, as he turned to throw away a burnt match.
“Because you are, that’s all. You’ve got a woman who really loves you, and—”
“Wait, now, you poor fish. Did I tell you she loved me?”