"Gee, Bill, ain't it funny how I'm a riot anywhere I go? Y' don't even have to tell 'em I'm Kid Whaley."
Bill tucked the signor's arm under his and was leading him through the reception-room. In his own mind there was a faint twinge of misgiving. It was a great adventure, yes; it represented his defiance of Aunt Caroline, of the social secretary, of the career that they were carving for him. It was not open defiance, of course; Bill had intended that it should be subtle. He was undermining the foundations, while at the same time appearing to labor on the superstructure. Presently the whole false edifice would crash and there would be no suspicion that he was the author of disaster. That was the reasoning part of his plotting. The remainder—perhaps the greater part—was sheer impulse. He was cooperating with the devil that lurked within him.
Now the real test was coming. He summoned his moral reserves as he leaned over and whispered:
"Kid, you're going to meet my aunt. Watch your step. Spread yourself, but be careful. Do you remember what I told you?"
"Sure," said the Kid, easily. "I'll put it over. Watch me."
"If you fall down I'm gone."
"I ain't ever fell down yet. Ring the gong."
Aunt Caroline and the bishop were still in the backwater as Bill arrived with the new bit of flotsam. The amiable old chatelaine glanced up.
"Mercy!" she murmured.
"Signor Antonio Valentino," said Bill, with a bow.