“I think he’s aging fast,” replied Trenton. “He’s breaking down under the weight of his own humility.”
“Find the man who’s giving the party! It’s going to be a beautiful evening for me. Just one knock after another! Grace, don’t let these birds prejudice you against me!”
Kemp addressed her by her first name quite as though they were old acquaintances. They were skimming rapidly over the Meridian street bridge and her diffidence began to pass.
“I’ll be your friend, Mr. Kemp,” she said. “You needn’t mind what the others say.”
“That will be all right; he needs friends; but don’t mister him. He’s Tommy to one and all.”
“‘O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, go away”;
But it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins,” when the band begins to play’,”—
Kemp quoted. “It’s the same old story!” he finished in mock dejection.
“Speaking of music, did you bring some new records, Tommy?” Irene inquired. “The ones you have at the farm date from Rameses.”
“Yes; there’s a package of ’em up in front, the very latest jazz, and a few classic pieces for my own private consolation.”