“So do I,” Billy cut in. “She is the blonde. Well, let to-morrow night be as it may; let’s you and I call up the Nancy girl now and tell her that we’re going batting together; she won’t care.”
“I don’t like doing that,” Caroline said; “it’s a nice night for a bat, though.”
“I walked down Murray Hill and saw the sun set in a nice pinky gold setting,” Billy said artfully. Caroline liked to have him get an artistic perspective on New York. “Let’s walk down the avenue to the Café des Artistes and have Emincé Bernard, and a long wide high, tall drink of—ginger ale,” he finished lamely.
“We’d have to telephone Nancy,” Caroline hesitated.
Billy took her by the arm and guided her into the interior of the drug-store to the side aisle where the telephones were, and stepped into the first empty booth that offered. Caroline stopped him firmly as he was about to shut himself inside.
“I’d rather hear what you say,” she said.
Billy slipped his nickel in the slot and took up the receiver.
“Madison Square 3403 doesn’t answer,” Central informed him crisply after an interval.
“Oh! Nancy, dear,” Billy replied softly into her astonished ear. “Caroline and I are going off by ourselves to-night, you don’t care, do you?”