“Then bring it here to me at once and tell me how you got it.”
“I cannot come to you.”
“Then I’ll come to you. Where are you?”
“I do not know. I am lost.”
“God, boy, what do you mean?”
“I am in a store of medicine that is many streets from that house of good Mary Brown, and also from the house of Madam Taylor. I have the intention of calling on the telephone my faithful Bonbon and asking that he come and find me and deliver me to the home of Madam Taylor and from thence transport this paper to you that you go to sleep for a much needed rest.”
“You helpless young idiot, call a taxi and come right here to me.”
“I am promised to a dance with Mademoiselle Belle by the hour of ten, of which it lacks now only a quarter. Cannot I go in that taxicab, which it is of much intelligence of you to suggest to me, and send by that taxicab to you the paper from Mary Brown while I stay to dance that dance?”
“Well I’ll be—no, I can’t say it over the telephone.”
“What is it, my Gouverneur Faulkner?”