"What are you beefing about? You're responsible for getting me in on this more than anybody else."
"Oh, go ahead; lay off on me. It's a grand joke because you see I'm down. Where do I come in?"
"Where does anybody's valet come in?" countered Bill, as he stropped a razor.
"You said it. That's just the point. You're copping all the cream. I'm a servant, that's all. It isn't neighborly, Bill. Gosh hang it, it isn't democracy! Do you call it a square deal, sneaking her off to a lunch?"
"That was business, Pete. We had to look at stationery. Beside, don't I give you my evenings?"
"Is it right that I eat in the servants' dining-room? Is it right that I sleep in the servants' quarters? Me—your guest! Is that a way to treat a guy who passed your college exams for you? And she thinks I'm a servant, too. I'll leave it to you if it's right."
"But Aunt Caroline puts you in a class by yourself," observed Bill. "Aunt Caroline doesn't misjudge you, Pete, even if you do claim to be a valet."
Pete allocated Aunt Caroline according to his idea of where she would do the most good.
"But she treats me as if I was somebody to take orders from her," he grumbled on. "She's losing her respect for me."
"Oh, forget Miss Norcross."