“Don’t be silly, you can come any evening.”
“Friday” whispered Miriam.
“What?” said Mr. Orly softly, emerging from his serviette, “a traitor in the camp?”
“Friday is it? Well, then it’s pretty certain I can’t come.”
“Don’t be silly Ley—you haven’t any engagements.”
“Haven’t I? There’s a sing-song at Headquarters Friday.”
“Enough, my dear, enough, press him no more” said Mr. Orly rising. “Far be it from us to compete. Going to sing Ley or to song, eh? Never mind boy, sorry you can’t come” he added, sighing gustily as he left the room.
“You’ll be able to come Ley won’t you?” whispered Mrs. Orly impatiently lingering.
“If you’d only let me know the date beforehand instead of springing it on me.”
“Don’t be si’y Ley it vexes Father so. You needn’t go to the si’y sing-song.”