"Very well," said Hamilton Beamish resignedly. "But, in any case, can you dine with me to-morrow night?"
"I should love it."
Hamilton Beamish's eyes closed, and he snuffled for awhile.
"And what is Mrs. Waddington's number?"
"Hempstead 4076."
"Thanks."
"We'll dine at the Purple Chicken, shall we?"
"Splendid."
"You can always get it there, if they know you."
"Do they know you?"