Bozzy shuddered. "Who in the world concocted that rig?"
"Your wife, sir," the cabman answered.
"It's beautiful," said Bozzy. "I'll be right down."
He wasn't, though. Kate told the kids he was leaving, and they trooped out of the bathroom to say good-by.
Bozzy could tell Ralph was the one being bathed only because he was naked—all three were equally wet, and equally anxious to embrace their Daddy. He had to make himself a new robe while the cab meter ticked and Kate jittered.
But once started, the drive between balconied buildings and intervening plazas went fast enough. Bozzy wasn't over half an hour late in reaching Mr. Kojac's apartment building.
The old man waited in the street, looking spare, spruce, and impatient.
"I do wish," he said, easing himself into the cab, "that you had a less anti-social attitude. Now you'll have to claim I delayed you."
"I'm sorry, sir," Bozzy mumbled. "It's kind of you to take the blame."
He thought it was also typical. He had understudied Mr. Kojac for the preceding two years, and felt there was no one else in the world for whom he could have as much respect.