"Go ahead, old chap, I can't do more than annihilate you."
"Well, I wanna go to the Schuylerses to dinner."
"To dinner!"
"Yes, sir. An' not to the kitchen eats, neither. I wanta set up to their gran' table with their butlerses an' feetmen, an' be a nonnerd guest. Kin I, Mr. Stone? Say, kinni?"
Fleming Stone looked at the eager, flushed face. He knew and I did, too, that there was something back of this request. But it couldn't be anything of vital importance to our mystery.
"Oh, I understand," said Stone, suddenly. "You've taken a desperate fancy to Mrs. Schuyler and you want to further the acquaintance. But it isn't often done that way, my boy."
"Aw, now, don't kid me, Mr. Stone. Either lemme go or shut down on it, one o' the six! But it's most nessary, I do assure you."
"Maybe she won't have you. Why should those grand ladies allow a boy of your age at their dinner-table?"
"Because you ask 'em, sir." Fibsy's tone was full of a quiet dignity.
"Very well, I'll ask them," and Stone went away to the telephone.