“I know you would,” said Philip soberly; and as he turned to go: “When you hear of any more jams like that, just give me a tip, Reddick. As you say, I have money to burn, and I haven’t much else. ’Night.”
XXIII
Having seen the Follansbees and Stephen Drew off for their hotel, Bromley lingered on the broad station-plaza platform which served as a hack stand, knowing that Philip must pass this way on his return up-town. When Philip appeared at last, not through the station archway, but at the foot of the stair leading down from the offices on the second floor, the play-boy caught step with him.
“I thought you’d show up if I waited long enough,” he began. Then, taking a leaf out of Philip’s own book of directness: “Who was the girl?”
Philip’s smile was soberly tolerant. “So you were looking on, were you? What did you see?”
“I saw you kiss her and put her on the train.”
“Well?”
“You mean it’s none of my business? I suppose it isn’t. But I did hope you’d stop short of the women, Phil.”
“Why should I?”
“For one reason, if for no other. You’ve been in love with Jean; though you may think you are not, you are still in love with her. How can you——”