“Long Island woman be hanged, Sam. This is something brand-new. Early colonial. Martha Washington when she was a girl. Beauties of the republican court not in it! Prettiest little figure, and a pair of eyes that would drive you crazy. And——”
Sam reached forward and grabbed Joe’s arm.
“What the devil are you talking about, Joe?”
“Miss Ford.”
“What Miss Ford?”
“The girl on the first floor.”
“Where?”
“Right below us, you lunatic! She got tangled up with the best bit of Chippendale I’ve seen for years, and I helped her out. Glass all smashed. Nearly broke her heart. Oh, you’ve got to see her, Sam, before you——”
Sam held both hands to his head, expressive of the fear that his precise and conservative mind was giving way.
“Joe, if it wasn’t but ten o’clock in the morning, and I didn’t know that you were plumb sober when I left you at breakfast an hour ago, I’d think you were boiling drunk. Now, pull yourself together, and give it to me straight. What are you raving about? Is it an order for a bungalow, or some girl who tramped up our stairs to sell you a ‘Trow’s Directory’?”