No, dash it, I didn't even care to try. I just coughed a little.
"He, he!" he giggled. "Woke up and remembered had promised Flossie Fandango of The Parisian Broilers a box of steamer flowers. Gad, she sails at ten; so I piled out and shot off a note to my florist, special delivery. Been trying to find out from that infernal card back there when's the first collection from the box below. You don't know, do you?"
By Jove, one of those foot-in-the-grave old stage-door Johnnies! The surprise took my breath.
"Why, the cheesy old sport!" I thought disgustedly. And I answered rather coldly: "Sorry, you know; no idea." And I opened the door wide.
But the old rascal never moved; just stood there, chuckling horribly.
"Well, she'll be back in the fall," he cackled. "And see here, old chap, will introduce you if you like. You need waking up!"
And here I gave a jump and yelled "Ouch!"
For the old fool had dug his thumb into my ribs. Only then did it dawn on me that he was drunk. Of course that was it, and unless I got rid of him the old bore would stand and twaddle the rest of the night. I reached for his hand and shook it.
"We'll have a talk about it some time," I said pleasantly. "Just now, don't you think we'd better each get to bed? So devilish late, you know."
He slapped me on the shoulder with a blow that almost brought me to the floor. Felt like he struck me with a ham, don't you know!