Brown, he did look surprised, but he didn't act as he was any too joyful.
“Relation of MINE?” says he. “Come off! What's his name?”
We told him Montague, Booth Montague. He laughed.
“Wake up and turn over,” he says. “They never had anything like that in my family. Booth Montague! Sure 'twa'n't Algernon Cough-drops?”
We said no, 'twas Booth Montague, and that he was waiting in the gents' parlor. So he laughed again, and said somethin' about sending for Laura Lean Jibbey, and then we started.
The checkerboard feller was standing up when we opened the door. “Hello, Petey!” says he, cool as a cucumber, and sticking out a foot and a half of wrist with a hand at the end of it.
Now, it takes considerable to upset Peter Theodosius Brown. Up to that time and hour I'd have bet on him against anything short of an earthquake. But Booth Montague done it—knocked him plumb out of water. Peter actually turned white.
“Great—” he began, and then stopped and swallered. “HANK!” he says, and set down in a chair.
“The same,” says Montague, waving the starboard extension of the checkerboard. “Petey, it does me good to set my eyes on you. Especially now, when you're the real thing.”
Brown never answered for a minute. Then he canted over to port and reached down into his pocket. “Well,” says he, “how much?”