"I know that. She said she wanted a third girl. If she does, tell her I'm bringing my ward—"
"Your—what!"
"My—ward—"
"Kenny," came in cold and scandalized tones from the other end, "have you been to bed at all?"
"If you make any pretense at all of being my friend," roared Kenny in a flash of temper, "will you do me the favor of assuming that I'm serious? I'm not drunk. I'm not insane. I've slept the night through. And I'm tired and terribly in earnest."
"You did say your ward."
"I did. Mr. Craig—the uncle, you remember, an invalid—died. And he's made me the guardian of his niece—"
"The poor boob." Garry's voice was sad and sincere.
"Garry! Are you or are you not my friend?"
"I am."