“Congratulations, old man. It’s much more convenient that way,—short-term sentence, you know,—if the young lady doesn’t object.”
Bascomb’s banter was apparently innocent of insinuation, although he knew that his sister had recently broken her engagement with David.
If the latter was annoyed at his friend’s chaff, he made no show of it as he stood up and looked at his watch.
“That reminds me, Wallie. I’m due at the dressmaker’s in about three minutes. Had no idea it was so late.”
“Dressmaker’s! See here, Davy, your Jonathan is miffed. Here I’ve been scouring this town for anything that looked like a real skirt and didn’t walk like a bag of onions or a pair of shears, and you’ve gone and found one.”
“That’s right,” said David, “but it was under orders, not an original inspiration.”
“Hear that, Smoke! Davy’ll bear watching up here.”
“Come on, Wallie. It’s only a block distant.”
“All right, Mephisto. Lead on. I want to see the face that launched a thousand—what’s the rest of it?” said Bascomb, as they filed down the stairs.
As they entered the little shop round the corner, Wallie assumed a rapturous expression as he gazed at the garishly plumed hats in the window.