"What do you think, Mr. Norman?" asked Jack respectfully.
"Oh, take them," said Bobo. "We can change later, if we're not suited." He gave the yellow stick a twirl.
"Certainly, sir."
Having been shown up to their magnificent quarters, Jack firmly dismissed the train of admiring clerks, bell boys and maids who overwhelmed them with attentions. Bobo was bearing himself with admirable nonchalance, but Jack thought he saw signs of a coming crack under the strain. There was something comically disproportionate in the relation of their two little selves and their two little valises to that endless suite.
"Our baggage will come to-morrow," Jack casually remarked.
When they were left alone in the Louis Quinze salon panelled in blue brocade, they looked around, and they looked at each other.
"Some li'l sittin'-room," said Jack.
"My God!" cried Bobo. "An hour ago I was sitting on a bench in Bryant Square with my stomach deflated like a punctured tube!"
"Some rapid rise."
Bobo gravely butted his head against the blue satin brocade. "Sure if I was asleep, that would wake me up."