“That’s ... that’s fine.”
“And I think you’ll like Ruthie, too, Jan. She isn’t your style exactly, but she’s all right. There’s no side to Ruthie. I think you’ll like her; she’s a fine little woman and a great little mother. You’ll like her, I’ll bet a hat.”
“I’m sure I shall.”
“Then it’s all right for to-night? Ruthie’ll join me downtown and we’ll come over to the hotel, and the three of us will have a great little dinner together and chew the rag about old times.... Say, d’you ever see that old ragamuffin, Zeb Kline?”
“Oh, yes, indeed. I saw him two or three weeks ago. He’s quite successful, now, you know; he’s made a great deal of money; married Nick Birdsell’s daughter.”
“Is that so! Well, is that so! He was a card all right, a great old scout.... And d’you ever see any of the rest of the old gang: Adolph Kuntz, an’ Fritz Wiggens, an’ Steve Teschemacher an’ old Gibbsy?”
“Oh, yes, occasionally.”
“Say, what’s old Gibbsy doing? He was a wormy little rat, all right, wasn’t he?”
“He’s got a very fine place, now, down on the Point,—quite an estate.”
“Well, wouldn’t you know it! He’d be just the kind of a little tightwad that would build himself a swell house! ... And what happened to old Doc French?”