“Where’s the priceless Gordon?—say, Elk, watch Gordon! Look after poor old Gordon—my sister’s very much attached to Gordon.”
“Fine car, Mr. Bennett,” said Elk, regarding the machine thoughtfully. “Present from your father?”
The mention of his father’s name seemed to sober the young man.
“No, it isn’t,” he snapped, “it belongs to a friend. ’Night, Lola.” He pumped at the starter, missed picking up, and stamped again. “S’long, Elk!”
With a jerk the car started, and Elk watched it out of sight.
“That young fellow is certainly in danger of knocking his nut against the moon,” he said. “Had a good time, Lola?”
“Yes—why?”
She fixed her suspicious eyes upon him expectantly.
“Didn’t forget to turn off the gas when you went out, did you? If I was Shylock Holmes, maybe I’d tell from the stain on your glove that you didn’t.”
“What do you mean about gas? I never use the cooker.”