"Not Harry. Marry. He's going to marry a palmist."
About four hundred waiters noticed a speck of dust on an ash tray at the table next to ours, and swooped down on it.
"Edwin is going to marry a palmist?"
"Yes."
"She must be mad. Hasn't she seen Edwin?"
And just then who should stroll in but Edwin himself. I sighted him and gave him a hail.
He curveted up to us. It was amazing the way the fellow had altered. He looked like a two-year-old. Flower in his button-hole and a six-inch grin, and all that. The old man seemed surprised, too. I didn't wonder. The Edwin he remembered was a pretty different kind of a fellow.
"Hullo, dad," he said. "Fancy meeting you here. Have a cigarette?"
He shoved out his case. Old man Craye helped himself in a sort of dazed way.
"You are Edwin?" he said slowly.