“Nothing.”
“Nothing, my aunt’s knee-cap! Come through. What’s carried off your goat?”
Kendall did not reply.
“Get up and have breakfast. I hear Arlette in the kitchen. You’ll feel better after you’ve had a bowl of chocolate warming up your tummy.”
“I don’t want any breakfast.”
“Huh?...” Bert was beginning now to be seriously troubled. “Say, what’s the matter, anyhow? Is it Andree?”
“I’ve just been a damn fool, that’s all.”
“Ought to be used to it,” said Bert, flippantly, and then, more seriously, “Say, you don’t mean to say that you’ve gone and went and fallen in love with her, or anything like that?”
“Look here,” Ken said, morosely, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I do,” said Bert, with a grin, “so we’re going to talk. I’m the biggest, and I can doggone well hold you while we thrash it out. Now tell it to your uncle. Are you in love with Andree?”