Bosworth looked at him in haughty surprise.
"You think I'm tight," he retorted. "There, forgive me, old chap; I didn't mean to snap you off like that. Le' me tell you about those cocktails. I took 'em to brace me up. I'm going to do it to-night." This in a whisper.
"Do it? Do what?"
"Ask her!"
"What the dev—Ask who what?"
"I don't know just who yet, but I certainly know what. I'm going to ask some one to become Mrs. Van Pycke. There are three of 'em who are eligible, according to the governor. He's ding-donged 'em at me for three months. I've got a taxicab waiting for me out there. The chances are that it'll get stuck in the snow somewhere. That's why I can't say which one I'm going to ask. It all depends on which one lives nearest to the snowdrift in which we get stuck. They're all the same to me. And I think they are to the governor. But, see here, George, I'm not going to ask more than one of 'em. If I get turned down to-night, that ends it. I'm going to work!"
"I don't wish you any bad luck, Buzzy, but I hope you'll be turned down," said his friend, earnestly.
Van Pycke was staring straight before him. His brain seemed clearer when he replied. There was a distinctly plaintive note in his voice.
"I wonder if I could make good at work of any kind. Do you suppose any one would give me a trial?"
"In a minute, Buzzy! And you would make good. Better stay in to-night. Let the—"