A chauffeur opened the door of a big limousine that was waiting at the curb. They were quickly speeding countryward with Irene and Grace on the back seat with Trenton between them. Kemp, on one of the adjustable chairs, crossed his legs with the easy nonchalance characteristic of him.
“How’s business, Irene?” he asked. “Are the dollars rolling into the Shipley till?”
“My department is running ahead of last year’s business,” said Irene, “but there’s less call for the best grades.”
“So? Same reports all over the country. We must charge it up to the war. Well, we can’t change business conditions tonight. We’ll all die bankrupt if things don’t take a brace and we may as well eat and be merry while we can. Am I right, Ward?”
“Certain, Tommy.”
“Don’t always agree with me!” cried Kemp with feigned asperity. “You have a most disagreeable way of pretending to agree with me when you don’t.”
“You’re too good a client for me to quarrel with. And besides you’re always right, Tommy.”
“Do stop spoiling him!” cried Irene. “Everybody spoils Tommy.”
“Not you!” returned Kemp. “Your business in life seems to be to keep me humble.”
“It doesn’t show on you! You don’t see any signs of it, do you, Ward?”