"In the first place, I am only David Cole. Besides, I put in a full allowance of time in bed. Mrs. Milliken daren't come in before eleven. Then, I don't smoke strong perfectos, especially in the morning, and I have a drink of claret perhaps once a week."
"Yes, I'll paint you with a halo around your old bald head, some day," he retorted.
"And now, what shall I say to Frances?" I asked, deeming it urgent to revert to my errand.
"I don't want her! Busy with other things!"
I looked at him, in surprise and disappointment, and walked off towards the hall where hung my hat and coat.
"Very well," I said, "I shall try and find something else for her to do. Good-by, Gordon."
"Good-by, Dave. Come in again soon, won't you?"
I made some noncommittal reply and rushed over to the elevator, ringing several times. When I reached the street I hurried to the cars, thinking that la donna may be mobile, but that as a weathercock Gordon was the limit. I got out at the Fourteenth Street station and soon reached home, at the very same time as a big scarlet runabout which I had noticed in the street, in front of the studio building. It halted with a grinding of brakes.
"I say, Dave! Tell her to come to-morrow morning. I am off to lunch at Ardsley. By-by."
It was Gordon, bearing in his pocket a summons for overspeeding, which he proudly exhibited.