Sassafras emerged with rolling eyes.
“Our chauffeur is waiting?” said O’Leary, adopting the methods of Tootles.
“Yassir—yassir,” said Sassafras, whom nothing astonished. “And Mrs. Van Astorbilt am reclinin’ in de car.”
“Well, what are you going to do with me?” said O’Leary, continuing in the light tone as a precautionary measure until the attack had shown its purpose.
“Do I have to tell you where to dine?” said Myrtle scornfully.
O’Leary performed a careful search of his pockets.
“We might buck the high places, if you ain’t too ravenous!”
She shrugged her shoulders, and, disdaining to answer his levity, led him down Columbus Avenue to Rossi’s, where, it being early, they found a deserted corner, and O’Leary took up the menu with an occasional stolen glance at his companion, who had become strangely silent.
“Minestrone and—hello, here’s luck!” he said. “Gnocci Milanese! Ever tasted them? They’re grand!”