The girls, bursting into laughter, waved to him.
"Yes, it's a lovely day," continued Schley, in imitation of McNab. "Mother's gone to the country, aunty's visiting us now, Uncle John's coming to-morrow—he'll be sober then. Too bad, girls, you're going the other way, and such lovely weather. Won't you take a ride? What? Oh, do now. Here, I say, Dink—whoa there! They're coming."
"Rats," said Troutman, glancing uneasily up the street.
"Sure they are. Whoa! Hold up. We'll give 'em a little ride, just for a lark. What's the diff?"
He was down, hat off, with exaggerated Chesterfield politeness, going to their coming.
"Do you mind?" said Troutman to Stover. "Schley's a crazy ass to do this just now."
"I wouldn't take them far," said Stover, who did not particularly care. He had no facility for bantering of this sort, but it rather amused him to listen to Schley. He saw that while they were of an obvious type one was insipid, and the other rather pretty, dark with Irish black eyes.
"Ladies, I wish to make you acquainted with my friends," said Schley, as he might speak to a duchess. "The ill-favored gent with the vermilion hair is the Reverend Doctor Balmfinder; the one with the padded shoulders is Binks, my trainer. Now what is this little girl's name?"
"Muriel," said the blonde, "Muriel Stacey."
"Of course, I might have known it. And yours of course is Maude, isn't it?"